THE  WORKS  OF 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 

FREDERIC  THOMAS  BLANCHARD 

FOR  THE 
ENGLISH  READING  ROOM 


"The   prettiest   hands    in   Alexandria   seized 
on  Orestes." 

"Hypatia," 
Vol.  //,  /.  /7 


THE     BIDEFORD     EDITION 


NOVELS,    POEMS  &"  LETTERS 
OF    CHARLES    KINGSLEY 


HYPATIA 

VOLUME  I 
BY   CHARLES  [KINGSLEY 


ILLUSTRATED 


NEW  YORK   AND  LONDON 

THE    CO-OPERATIVE 
PUBLICATION  SOCIETY 


Copyright,  1899 
BY  J.  F.  TAYLOR  &  COMPANY 


Hypatl*. 
Volume  I 


CONTENTS 

VOLUME  I 

PAGE 

INTRODUCTION vii 

PREFACE zi 

CHAPTER 

I.    THE  LAURA ".  i 

II.    THE  DYING  WORLD 18 

III.  THE  GOTHS 43 

IV.  MIRIAM 61 

V.    A  DAY  IN  ALEXANDRIA 79 

VI.    THE  NEW  DIOGENES 112 

VII.    THOSE  BY  WHOM  OFFENCES  COMB 125 

VIII.    THE  EAST  WIND 147 

IX.    THE  SNAPPING  OF  THE  Bow 169 

X.    THE  INTERVIEW 182 

XI.    THE  LAURA  AGAIN 199 

XII.    THE  BOWER  OF  ACRASIA 214 

XIII.  THE  BOTTOM  OF  THE  ABYSS 229 

XIV.  THE  ROCKS  OF  THE  SIRENS 261 

XV.    NEPHELOCOCCUGUIA 271 

XVI.    VENUS  AND  PALLAS 285 


A— Vol.  VI 


DEDICATION 

TO  MY  FATHER  AND  MY  MOTHER 

MY  DEAR  PARENTS:  — 

WHEN  you  shall  have  read  this  book,  and  considered 
the  view  of  human  relationships  which  is  set  forth  in  it,  you 
will  be  at  no  loss  to  discover  why  I  have  dedicated  it  to  you, 
as  one  paltry  witness  of  an  union  and  of  a  debt  which, 
though  they  may  seem  to  have  begun  with  birth,  and  to 
have  grown  with  your  most  loving  education,  yet  cannot 
die  with  death  :  but  are  spiritual,  indefeasible,  eternal  in  the 
heavens  with  that  God  from  whom  every  fatherhood  in 
heaven  and  earth  is  named. 

C  Kc 


PREFACE 

\  PICTURE  of  life  in  the  fifth  century  must 
XJL  needs  contain  much  which  will  be  painful 
to  any  reader,  and  which  the  young  and  innocent 
will  do  well  to  leave  altogether  unread.  It  has  to 
represent  a  very  hideous,  though  a  very  great, 
age ;  one  of  those  critical  and  cardinal  eras  in  the 
history  of  the  human  race  in  which  virtues  and 
vices  manifest  themselves  side  by  side  —  even,  at 
times,  in  the  same  person  —  with  the  most  startling 
openness  and  power.  One  who  writes  of  such 
an  era  labors  under  a  troublesome  disadvantage. 
He  dare  not  tell  how  evil  people  were ;  he  will  not 
be  believed  if  he  tells  how  good  they  were.  In 
the  present  case  that  disadvantage  is  doubled ;  for 
while  the  sins  of  the  Church,  however  heinous, 
were  still  such  as  admit  of  being  expressed  in 
words,  the  sins  of  the  heathen  world,  against  which 
she  fought,  were  utterly  indescribable;  and  the 
Christian  apologist  is  thus  compelled,  for  the  sake 
of  decency,  to  state  the  Church's  case  far  more 
weakly  than  the  facts  deserve. 

Not,  be  it  ever  remembered,  that  the  slightest 
suspicion  of  immorality  attaches  either  to  the 
heroine  of  this  book,  or  to  the  leading  philosophers 
of  her  school,  for  several  centuries.  Howsoever 
base  and  profligate  their  disciples,  or  the  Mani- 


xii  Preface 

chees,  may  have  been,  the  great  Neo-PIatonists 
were,  as  Manes  himself  was,  persons  of  the  most 
rigid  and  ascetic  virtue. 

For  a  time  had  arrived  in  which  no  teacher  who 
did  not  put  forth  the  most  lofty  pretensions  to 
righteousness  could  expect  a  hearing.  That  Divine 
Word,  who  is  "  The  Light  who  lighteth  every  man 
which  cometh  into  the  world,"  had  awakened  in 
the  heart  of  mankind  a  moral  craving  never  be- 
fore felt  in  any  strength,  except  by  a  few  isolated 
philosophers  or  prophets.  The  Spirit  had  been 
poured  out  on  all  flesh ;  and  from  one  end  of  the 
Empire  to  the  other,  from  the  slave  in  the  mill  to 
the  emperor  on  his  throne,  all  hearts  were  either 
hungering  and  thirsting  after  righteousness,  or 
learning  to  do  homage  to  those  who  did  so.  And 
He  who  excited  the  craving,  was  also  furnishing 
that  which  would  satisfy  it ;  and  was  teaching  man- 
kind, by  a  long  and  painful  education,  to  distin- 
guish the  truth  from  its  innumerable  counterfeits, 
and  to  find,  for  the  first  time  in  the  world's  life,  a 
good  news  not  merely  for  the  select  few,  but  for  all 
mankind  without  respect  of  rank  or  race. 

For  somewhat  more  than  four  hundred  years, 
the  Roman  Empire  and  the  Christian  Church,  born 
into  the  world  almost  at  the  same  moment,  had 
been  developing  themselves  side  by  side  as  two 
great  rival  powers,  in  deadly  struggle  for  the  pos- 
session of  the  human  race.  The  weapons  of  the 
Empire  had  been  not  merely  an  overwhelming 
physical  force,  and  a  ruthless  lust  of  aggressive 


Preface  xiii 

conquest:  but,  even  more  powerful  still,  an  un- 
equalled genius  for  organization,  and  a  uniform 
system  of  external  law  and  order.  This  was  gen- 
erally a  real  boon  to  conquered  nations,  because  it 
substituted  a  fixed  and  regular  spoliation  for  the 
fortuitous  and  arbitrary  miseries  of  savage  warfare : 
but  it  arrayed,  meanwhile,  on  the  side  of  the  Em- 
pire the  wealthier  citizens  of  every  province,  by 
allowing  them  their  share  in  the  plunder  of  the 
laboring  masses  below  them.  These,  in  the  coun- 
try districts,  were  utterly  enslaved ;  while  in  the 
cities,  nominal  freedom  was  of  little  use  to  masses 
kept  from  starvation  by  the  alms  of  the  govern- 
ment, and  drugged  into  brutish  good-humor  by  a 
vast  system  of  public  spectacles,  in  which  the  realms 
of  nature  and  of  art  were  ransacked  to  glut  the 
wonder,  lust,  and  ferocity  of  a  degraded  populace. 

Against  this  vast  organization  the  Church  had 
been  fighting  for  now  four  hundred  years,  armed 
only  with  its  own  mighty  and  all-embracing  mes- 
sage, and  with  the  manifestation  of  a  spirit  of 
purity  and  virtue,  of  love  and  self-sacrifice,  which 
had  proved  itself  mightier  to  melt  and  weld 
together  the  hearts  of  men,  than  all  the  force  and 
terror,  all  the  mechanical  organization,  all  the 
sensual  baits  with  which  the  Empire  had  been 
contending  against  that  Gospel  in  which  it  had 
recognized  instinctively  and  at  first  sight,  its  inter- 
necine foe. 

And  now  the  Church  had  conquered.  The  weak 
things  of  this  world  had  confounded  the  strong. 


xiv  Preface 

In  spite  of  the  devilish  cruelties  of  persecutors; 
in  spite  of  the  contaminating  atmosphere  of  sin 
which  surrounded  her ;  in  spite  of  having  to  form 
herself,  not  out  of  a  race  of  pure  and  separate 
creatures,  but  by  a  most  literal  "  new  birth "  out 
of  those  very  fallen  masses  who  insulted  and  per- 
secuted her ;  in  spite  of  having  to  endure  within 
herself  continual  outbursts  of  the  evil  passions  in 
which  her  members  had  once  indulged  without 
check ;  in  spite  of  a  thousand  counterfeits  which 
sprang  up  around  her  and  within  her,  claiming  to 
be  parts  of  her,  and  alluring  men  to  themselves  by 
that  very  exclusiveness  and  party  arrogance  which 
disproved  their  claim;  in  spite  of  all,  she  had 
conquered.  The  very  emperors  had  arrayed  them- 
selves on  her  side.  Julian's  last  attempt  to  restore 
paganism  by  imperial  influence  had  only  proved 
that  the  old  faith  had  lost  all  hold  upon  the  hearts 
of  the  masses ;  at  his  death  the  great  tide-wave  of 
new  opinion  rolled  on  unchecked,  and  the  rulers 
of  earth  were  fain  to  swim  with  the  stream;  to 
accept,  in  words  at  least,  the  Church's  laws  as 
theirs ;  to  acknowledge  a  King  of  kings  to  whom 
even  they  owed  homage  and  obedience;  and  to 
call  their  own  slaves  their  "  poorer  brethren,"  and 
often,  too,  their  "  spiritual  superiors." 

But  if  the  emperors  had  become  Christian,  the 
Empire  had  not.  Here  and  there  an  abuse  was 
lopped  off ;  or  an  edict  was  passed  for  the  visitation 
of  prisons  and  for  the  welfare  of  prisoners ;  or  a 
Theodosius  was  recalled  to  justice  and  humanity 


Preface  xv 

for  a  while  by  the  stern  rebukes  of  an  Ambrose. 
But  the  Empire  was  still  the  same :  still  a  great 
tyranny,  enslaving  the  masses,  crushing  national 
life,  fattening  itself  and  its  officials  on  a  system  of 
world-wide  robbery ;  and  while  it  was  paramount, 
there  could  be  no  hope  for  the  human  race.  Nay, 
there  were  even  those  among  the  Christians  who 
saw,  like  Dante  afterwards,  in  the  "  fatal  gift  of 
Constantine,"  and  the  truce  between  the  Church 
and  the  Empire,  fresh  and  more  deadly  danger. 
Was  not  the  Empire  trying  to  extend  over  the 
Church  itself  that  upas  shadow  with  which  it  had 
withered  up  every  other  form  of  human  existence ; 
to  make  her,  too,  its  stipendiary  slave-official,  to  be 
pampered  when  obedient,  and  scourged  whenever 
she  dare  assert  a  free  will  of  her  own,  a  law  beyond 
that  of  her  tyrants ;  to  throw  on  her,  by  a  refined 
hypocrisy,  the  care  and  support  of  the  masses  on 
whose  life-blood  it  was  feeding?  So  thought  many 
then,  and,  as  I  believe,  not  unwisely. 

But  if  the  social  condition  of  the  civilized  world 
was  anomalous  at  the  beginning  of  the  fifth  cen- 
tury, its  spiritual  state  was  still  more  so.  The  uni- 
versal fusion  of  races,  languages,  and  customs, 
which  had  gone  on  for  four  centuries  under  the 
Roman  rule,  had  produced  a  corresponding  fusion 
of  creeds,  an  universal  fermentation  of  human 
thought  and  faith.  All  honest  belief  in  the  old 
local  superstitions  of  paganism  had  been  long  dying 
out  before  the  more  palpable  and  material  idolatry 
of  Empetor-worship ;  and  the  gods  of  the  nations, 


xvi  Preface 

unable  to  deliver  those  who  had  trusted  in  them, 
became  one  by  one  the  vassals  of  the  "  Divus 
Caesar,"  neglected  by  the  philosophic  rich,  and  only 
worshipped  by  the  lower  classes,  where  the  old 
rites  still  pandered  to  their  grosser  appetites,  or 
subserved  the  wealth  and  importance  of  some 
particular  locality. 

In  the  meanwhile,  the  minds  of  men,  cut  adrift 
from  their  ancient  moorings,  wandered  wildly  over 
pathless  seas  of  speculative  doubt,  and  especially 
in  the  more  metaphysical  and  contemplative  East, 
attempted  to  solve  for  themselves  the  questions  of 
man's  relation  to  the  unseen  by  those  thousand 
schisms,  heresies,  and  theosophies  (it  is  a  disgrace 
to  the  word  philosophy  to  call  them  by  it),  on  the 
records  of  which  the  student  now  gazes  bewildered, 
unable  alike  to  count  or  to  explain  their  fantasies. 

Yet  even  these,  like  every  outburst  of  free  hu- 
man thought,  had  their  use  and  their  fruit  They 
brought  before  the  minds  of  churchmen  a  thousand 
new  questions  which  must  be  solved,  unless  the 
Church  was  to  relinquish  for  ever  her  claims  as  the 
great  teacher  and  satisfier  of  the  human  soul.  To 
study  these  bubbles,  as  they  formed  and  burst  on 
every  wave  of  human  life ;  to  feel,  too  often  by  sad 
experience,  as  Augustine  felt,  the  charm  of  their 
allurements;  to  divide  the  truths  at  which  they 
aimed  from  the  falsehood  which  they  offered  as  its 
substitute ;  to  exhibit  the  Catholic  Church  as  pos- 
sessing, in  the  great  facts  which  she  proclaimed,  full 
satisfaction,  even  for  the  most  subtle  metaphysical 


Preface  xvii 

cravings  of  a  diseased  age  ;  —  that  was  the  work  of 
the  time ;  and  men  were  sent  to  do  it,  and  aided  in 
their  labor  by  the  very  causes  which  had  produced 
the  intellectual  revolution.  The  general  inter- 
mixture of  ideas,  creeds,  and  races,  even  the  mere 
physical  facilities  for  intercourse  between  different 
parts  of  the  Empire,  helped  to  give  the  great 
Christian  fathers  of  the  fourth  and  fifth  centuries  a 
breadth  of  observation,  a  depth  of  thought,  a  large- 
hearted  and  large-minded  patience  and  tolerance, 
such  as,  we  may  say  boldly,  the  Church  has  since 
beheld  but  rarely,  and  the  world  never ;  at  least, 
if  we  are  to  judge  those  great  men  by  what  they 
had,  and  not  by  what  they  had  not,  and  to  believe, 
as  we  are  bound,  that  had  they  lived  now,  and  not 
then,  they  would  have  towered  as  far  above  the 
heads  of  this  generation  as  they  did  above  the 
heads  of  their  own.  And  thus  an  age,  which,  to 
the  shallow  insight  of  a  sneerer  like  Gibbon,  seems 
only  a  rotting  and  aimless  chaos  of  sensuality  and 
anarchy,  fanaticism  and  hypocrisy,  produced  a 
Clement  and  an  Athanase,  a  Chrysostom  and  an 
Augustine ;  absorbed  into  the  sphere  of  Christian- 
ity all  which  was  most  valuable  in  the  philosophies 
of  Greece  and  Egypt,  and  in  the  social  organization 
of  Rome,  as  an  heirloom  for  nations  yet  unborn ; 
and  laid  in  foreign  lands,  by  unconscious  agents, 
the  foundations  of  all  European  thought  and 
ethics. 

But  the  health  of  a  Church  depends,  not  merely 
on  the  creed  which  it  professes,  not  even  on  the 


xviii  Preface 

wisdom  and  holiness  of  a  few  great  ecclesiastics, 
but  on  the  faith  and  virtue  of  its  individual  mem- 
bers. The  mens  sana  must  have  a  corpus  sanum 
to  inhabit  And  even  for  the  Western  Church,  the 
lofty  future  which  was  in  store  for  it  would  have 
been  impossible,  without  some  infusion  of  new  and 
healthier  blood  into  the  veins  of  a  world  drained 
and  tainted  by  the  influence  of  Rome. 

And  the  new  blood,  at  the  era  of  this  story,  was 
at  hand.  The  great  tide  of  those  Gothic  nations, 
of  which  the  Norwegian  and  the  German  are  the 
purest  remaining  types,  though  every  nation  of 
Europe,  from  Gibraltar  to  St.  Petersburg,  owes  to 
them  the  most  precious  elements  of  strength,  was 
sweeping  onward,  wave  over  wave,  in  a  steady 
southwestern  current,  across  the  whole  Roman  ter- 
ritory, and  only  stopping  and  recoiling  when  it 
reached  the  shores  of  the  Mediterranean.  Those 
wild  tribes  were  bringing  with  them  into  the  magic 
circle  of  the  Western  Church's  influence  the  very 
materials  which  she  required  for  the  building  up 
of  a  future  Christendom,  and  which  she  could  find 
as  little  in  the  Western  Empire,  as  in  the  Eastern  ; 
comparative  purity  of  morals ;  sacred  respect  for 
women,  for  family  life,  law,  equal  justice,  individual 
freedom,  and,  above  all,  for  honesty  in  word  and 
deed ;  bodies  untainted  by  hereditary  effeminacy, 
hearts  earnest  though  genial,  and  blest  with  a 
strange  willingness  to  learn,  even  from  those  whom 
they  despised ;  a  brain  equal  to  that  of  the  Roman 
in  practical  power,  and  not  too  far  behind  that 


Preface  xix 

of  the  Eastern   in   imaginative   and    speculative 
acuteness. 

And  their  strength  was  felt  at  once.  Their  van- 
guard, confined  with  difficulty  for  three  centuries 
beyond  the  Eastern  Alps,  at  the  expense  of  san- 
guinary wars,  had  been  adopted,  wherever  it  was 
practicable,  into  the  service  of  the  Empire;  and 
the  heart's  core  of  the  Roman  legion  was  com- 
posed of  Gothic  officers  and  soldiers.  But  now 
the  main  body  had  arrived.  Tribe  after  tribe  was 
crowding  down  to  the  Alps,  and  trampling  upon 
each  other  on  the  frontiers  of  the  Empire.  The 
Huns,  singly  their  inferiors,  pressed  them  from 
behind  with  the  irresistible  weight  of  numbers; 
Italy,  with  her  rich  cities  and  fertile  lowlands, 
beckoned  them  on  to  plunder;  as  auxiliaries,  they 
had  learned  their  own  strength  and  Roman  weak- 
ness ;  a  casus  belli  was  soon  found.  How  iniqui- 
tous was  the  conduct  of  the  sons  of  Theodosius,  in 
refusing  the  usual  bounty,  by  which  the  Goths  were 
bribed  not  to  attack  the  Empire!  The  whole 
pent-up  deluge  burst  over  the  plains  of  Italy,  and 
the  Western  Empire  became  from  that  day  forth  a 
dying  idiot,  while  the  new  invaders  divided  Europe 
among  themselves.  The  fifteen  years  before  the 
time  of  this  tale  had  decided  the  fate  of  Greece ; 
the  last  four  that  of  Rome  itself.  The  countless 
treasures  which  five  centuries  of  rapine  had  ac- 
cumulated round  the  Capitol  had  become  the  prey 
of  men  clothed  in  sheepskins  and  horsehide ;  and 
the  sister  of  an  emperor  had  found  her  beauty. 


xx  Preface 

virtue,  and  pride  of  race,  worthily  matched  by 
those  of  the  hard-handed  Northern  hero  who  led 
her  away  from  Italy  as  his  captive  and  his  bride,  to 
found  new  kingdoms  in  South  France  and  Spain, 
and  to  drive  the  newly-arrived  Vandals  across  the 
Straits  of  Gibraltar  into  the  then  blooming  coast- 
land  of  Northern  Africa.  Everywhere  the  man- 
gled limbs  of  the  Old  World  were  seething  in  the 
Medea's  caldron,  to  come  forth  whole,  and  young, 
and  strong.  The  Longbeards,  noblest  of  their 
race,  had  found  a  temporary  resting-place  upon 
the  Austrian  frontier,  after  long  southward  wander- 
ings from  the  Swedish  mountains,  soon  to  be 
dispossessed  again  by  the  advancing  Huns,  and, 
crossing  the  Alps,  to  give  their  name  for  ever  to 
the  plains  of  Lombardy.  A  few  more  tumultuous 
years,  and  the  Franks  would  find  themselves  lords 
of  the  Lower  Rhineland ;  and  before  the  hairs  of 
Hypatia's  scholars  had  grown  gray,  the  mythic 
Hengst  and  Horsa  would  have  landed  on  the 
shores  of  Kent,  and  an  English  nation  have  begun 
its  world-wide  life. 

But  some  great  Providence  forbade  to  our  race, 
triumphant  in  every  other  quarter,  a  footing  be- 
yond the  Mediterranean,  or  even  in  Constantinople, 
which  to  this  day  preserves  in  Europe  the  faith 
and  manners  of  Asia.  The  Eastern  World  seemed 
barred,  by  some  stern  doom,  from  the  only  influence 
which  could  have  regenerated  it.  Every  attempt 
of  the  Gothic  races  to  establish  themselves  beyond 
the  sea,  whether  in  the  form  of  an  organized  king- 


Preface  xxi 

dom,  as  the  Vandals  attempted  in  Africa ;  or  of  a 
mere  band  of  brigands,  as  did  the  Goths  in  Asia 
Minor  under  Gainas ;  or  of  a  praetorian  guard,  as 
did  the  Varangens  of  the  middle  age ;  or  as  reli- 
gious invaders,  as  did  the  Crusaders,  ended  only  in 
the  corruption  and  disappearance  of  the  colonists. 
That  extraordinary  reform  in  morals,  which,  ac- 
cording to  Salvian  and  his  contemporaries,  the 
Vandal  conquerors  worked  in  North  Africa,  availed 
them  nothing;  they  lost  more  than  they  gave. 
Climate,  bad  example,  and  the  luxury  of  power 
degraded  them  in  one  century  into  a  race  of  help- 
less and  debauched  slaveholders,  doomed  to  utter 
extermination  before  the  semi-Gothic  armies  of 
Belisarius ;  and  with  them  vanished  the  last  chance 
that  the  Gothic  races  would  exercise  on  the  East- 
ern World  the  same  stern  yet  wholesome  discipline 
under  which  the  Western  had  been  restored  to  life. 
The  Egyptian  and  Syrian  Churches,  therefore, 
were  destined  to  labor  not  for  themselves,  but 
for  us.  The  signs  of  disease  and  decrepitude  were 
already  but  too  manifest  in  them.  That  very  pecu- 
liar turn  of  the  Graeco-Eastern  mind,  which  made 
them  the  great  thinkers  of  the  then  world,  had 
the  effect  of  drawing  them  away  from  practice  to 
speculation;  and  the  races  of  Egypt  and  Syria 
were  effeminate,  over-civilized,  exhausted  by  cen- 
turies during  which  no  infusion  of  fresh  blood  had 
come  to  renew  the  stock.  Morbid,  self-conscious, 
physically  indolent,  incapable  then,  as  now,  of  per- 
sonal or  political  freedom,  they  afforded  material 


xxii  Preface 

out  of  which  fanatics  might  easily  be  made,  but 
not  citizens  of  the  kingdom  of  God.  The  very 
ideas  of  family  and  national  life  —  those  two  divine 
roots  of  the  Church,  severed  from  which  she  is 
certain  to  wither  away  into  that  most  godless  and 
most  cruel  of  spectres,  a  religious  world — had 
perished  in  the  East  from  the  evil  influence  of  the 
universal  practice  of  slaveholding,  as  well  as  from 
the  degradation  of  that  Jewish  nation  which  had 
been  for  ages  the  great  witness  for  those  ideas; 
and  all  classes,  like  their  forefather  Adam  —  like, 
indeed,  "the  old  Adam"  in  every  man  and  in  every 
age  —  were  shifting  the  blame  of  sin  from  their 
own  consciences  to  human  relationships  and  duties 
— and  therein,  to  the  God  who  had  appointed  them ; 
and  saying  as  of  old,  "  The  woman  whom  thou 
gavest  to  be  with  me,  she  gave  me  of  the  tree,  and 
I  did  eat."  The  passionate  Eastern  character,  like 
all  weak  ones,  found  total  abstinence  easier  than 
temperance,  religious  thought  more  pleasant  than 
godly  action ;  and  a  monastic  world  grew  up  all 
over  the  East,  of  such  vastness  that  in  Egypt  it  was 
said  to  rival  in  numbers  the  lay  population,  pro- 
ducing, with  an  enormous  decrease  in  the  actual 
amount  of  moral  evil,  an  equally  great  enervation 
and  decrease  of  the  population.  Such  a  people 
could  offer  no  resistance  to  the  steadily-increasing 
tyranny  of  the  Eastern  Empire.  In  vain  did  such 
men  as  Chrysostom  and  Basil  oppose  their  per- 
sonal influence  to  the  hideous  intrigues  and  vil- 
lanies  of  the  Byzantine  court;  the  ever-downward 


Preface 


XXlll 


career  of  Eastern  Christianity  went  on  unchecked 
for  two  more  miserable  centuries,  side  by  side  with 
the  upward  development  of  the  Western  Church ; 
and,  while  the  successors  of  the  great  Saint  Greg- 
ory were  converting  and  civilizing  a  new-born 
Europe,  the  Churches  of  the  East  were  vanishing 
before  Mohammedan  invaders,  strong  by  living 
trust  in  that  living  God,  whom  the  Christians,  while 
they  hated  and  persecuted  each  other  for  argu- 
ments about  Him,  were  denying  and  blaspheming 
in  every  action  of  their  lives. 

But  at  the  period  whereof  this  story  treats,  the 
Grseco-Eastern  mind  was  still  in  the  middle  of  its 
great  work.  That  wonderful  metaphysic  subtlety, 
which,  in  phrases  and  definitions  too  often  un- 
meaning to  our  grosser  intellect,  saw  the  symbols 
of  the  most  important  spiritual  realities,  and  felt 
that  on  the  distinction  between  homoousios  and 
homoiousios  might  hang  the  solution  of  the  whole 
problem  of  humanity,  was  set  to  battle  in  Alexan- 
dria, the  ancient  stronghold  of  Greek  philosophy, 
with  the  effete  remains  of  the  very  scientific  thought 
to  which  it  owed  its  extraordinary  culture.  Monas- 
tic isolation  from  family  and  national  duties  espe- 
cially fitted  the  fathers  of  that  period  for  the  task, 
by  giving  them  leisure,  if  nothing  else,  to  face 
questions  with  a  lifelong  earnestness  impossible  to 
the  more  social  and  practical  Northern  mind.  Our 
duty  is,  instead  of  sneering  at  them  as  pedantic 
dreamers,  to  thank  Heaven  that  men  were  found, 
just  at  the  time  when  they  were  wanted,  to  do  for 


xxiv  Preface 

us  what  we  could  never  have  done  for  ourselves  ; 
to  leave  to  us,  as  a  precious  heirloom,  bought  most 
truly  with  the  life-blood  of  their  race,  a  metaphysic 
at  once  Christian  and  scientific,  every  attempt  to 
improve  on  which  has  hitherto  been  found  a  fail- 
ure; and  to  battle  victoriously  with  that  strange 
brood  of  theoretic  monsters  begotten  by  effete 
Greek  philosophy  upon  Egyptian  symbolism, 
Chaldee  astrology,  Parsee  dualism,  Brahminic 
spiritualism  —  graceful  and  gorgeous  phantoms, 
whereof  somewhat  more  will  be  said  in  the  coming 
chapters. 

I  have,  in  my  sketch  of  Hypatia  and  her  fate, 
closely  followed  authentic  history,  especially  Soc- 
rates's  account  of  the  closing  scene,  as  given  in 
Book  vii.  §  15,  of  his  "Ecclesiastical  History."  I 
am  inclined,  however,  for  various  historical  reasons, 
to  date  her  death  two  years  earlier  than  he  does. 
The  tradition  that  she  was  the  wife  of  Isidore,  the 
philosopher,  I  reject,  with  Gibbon,  as  a  palpable 
anachronism  of  at  least  fifty  years  (Isidore's  mas- 
ter, Proclus,  not  having  been  born  till  the  year  be- 
fore Hypatia's  death),  contradicted,  moreover,  by 
the  very  author  of  it,  Photius,  who  says  distinctly, 
after  comparing  Hypatia  and  Isidore,  that  Isidore 
married  a  certain  "  Domna."  No  hint,  moreover, 
of  her  having  been  married,  appears  in  any  con- 
temporary authors ;  and  the  name  of  Isidore  no- 
where occurs  among  those  of  the  many  mutual 
friends  to  whom  Synesius  sends  messages  in  his 
letters  to  Hypatia,  in  which,  if  anywhere,  we  should 


Preface  xxv 

find  mention  of  a  husband,  had  one  existed.  To 
Synesius's  most  charming  letters,  as  well  as  to 
those  of  Isidore,  the  good  Abbot  of  Pelusium,  I 
beg  leave  to  refer  those  readers  who  wish  for 
further  information  about  the  private  life  of  the 
fifth  century. 

I  cannot  hope  that  these  pages  will  be  altogether 
free  from  anachronisms  and  errors.  I  can  only  say 
that  I  have  labored  honestly  and  industriously  to 
discover  the  truth,  even  in  its  minutest  details,  and 
to  sketch  the  age,  its  manners  and  its  literature, 
as  I  found  them,  —  altogether  artificial,  slipshod, 
effete,  resembling  far  more  the  times  of  Louis 
Quinze  than  those  of  Sophocles  and  Plato.  And 
so  I  send  forth  this  little  sketch,  ready  to  give  my 
hearty  thanks  to  any  reviewer,  who,  by  exposing 
my  mistakes,  shall  teach  me  and  the  public  some- 
what more  about  the  last  struggle  between  the 
Young  Church  and  the  Old  World. 


HYPATIA 

OR 

NEW  FOES  WITH   AN   OLD  FACE 


HYPATIA; 

OR, 

NEW  FOES  WITH  AN  OLD  FACE 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  LAURA 

IN  the  four  hundred  and  thirteenth  year  of  the 
Christian  Era,  some  three  hundred  miles  above 
Alexandria,  the  young  monk  Philammon  was  sitting 
on  the  edge  of  a  low  range  of  inland  cliffs,  crested 
with  drifting  sand.  Behind  him  the  desert  sand- 
waste  stretched,  lifeless,  interminable,  reflecting  its 
lurid  glare  on  the  horizon  of  the  cloudless  vault  of 
blue.  At  his  feet  the  sand  dripped  and  trickled, 
in  yellow  rivulets,  from  crack  to  crack  and  ledge 
to  ledge,  or  whirled  past  him  in  tiny  jets  of  yellow 
smoke,  before  the  fitful  summer  airs.  Here  and 
there,  upon  the  face  of  the  cliffs  which  walled  in  the 
opposite  side  of  the  narrow  glen  below,  were  cav- 
ernous tombs,  huge  old  quarries,  with  obelisks  and 
half-cut  pillars,  standing  as  the  workmen  had  left 
them  centuries  before ;  the  sand  was  slipping  down 
and  piling  up  around  them,  their  heads  were  frosted 
with  the  arid  snow ;  everywhere  was  silence,  deso- 
lation —  the  grave  of  a  dead  nation,  in  a  dying 
land.  And  there  he  sat  musing  above  it  all,  full  of 

B— Vol.  VI 


2  Hypatia 

life  and  youth  and  health  and  beauty  —  a  young 
Apollo  of  the  desert.  His  only  clothing  was  a 
ragged  sheepskin,  bound  with  a  leathern  girdle. 
His  long  black  locks,  unshorn  from  childhood, 
waved  and  glistened  in  the  sun ;  a  rich  dark 
down  on  cheek  and  chin  showed  the  spring  of 
healthful  manhood;  his  hard  hands  and  sinewy 
sunburnt  limbs  told  of  labor  and  endurance;  his 
flashing  eyes  and  beetling  brow,  of  daring,  fancy, 
passion,  thought,  which  had  no  sphere  of  action 
in  such  a  place.  What  did  his  glorious  young 
humanity  alone  among  the  tombs  ? 

So  perhaps  he,  too,  thought,  as  he  passed  his 
hand  across  his  brow,  as  if  to  sweep  away  some 
gathering  dream,  and  sighing,  rose  and  wandered 
along  the  cliffs,  peering  downward  at  every  point 
and  cranny,  in  search  of  fuel  for  the  monastery 
from  whence  he  came. 

Simple  as  was  the  material  which  he  sought,  con- 
sisting chiefly  of  the  low  arid  desert  shrubs  with 
now  and  then  a  fragment  of  wood  from  some 
deserted  quarry  or  ruin,  it  was  becoming  scarcer 
and  scarcer  round  Abbot  Pambo's  Laura  at  Seeds ; 
and  long  before  Philammon  had  collected  his  daily 
quantity,  he  had  strayed  farther  from  his  home  than 
he  had  ever  been  before. 

Suddenly,  at  a  turn  of  the  glen,  he  came  upon  a 
sight  new  to  him  ...  a  temple  carved  in  the  sand- 
stone cliff;  and  in  front  a  smooth  platform,  strewn 
with  beams  and  mouldering  tools,  and  here  and 
there  a  skull  bleaching  among  the  sand,  perhaps 
of  some  workman  slaughtered  at  his  labor  in  one 
of  the  thousand  wars  of  old.  The  abbot,  his  spirit- 
ual father  —  indeed,  the  only  father  whom  he  knew, 
for  his  earliest  recollections  were  of  the  Laura  and 


The  Laura  3 

the  old  man's  cell  —  had  strictly  forbidden  him  to 
enter,  even  to  approach  any  of  those  relics  of 
ancient  idolatry:  but  a  broad  terrace-road  led 
down  to  the  platform  from  the  table-land  above ; 
the  plentiful  supply  of  fuel  was  too  tempting  to  be 
passed  by.  .  .  .  He  would  go  down,  gather  a  few 
sticks,  and  then  return,  to  tell  the  abbot  of  the 
treasure  which  he  had  found,  and  consult  him  as  to 
the  propriety  of  revisiting  it. 

So  down  he  went,  hardly  daring  to  raise  his  eyes 
to  the  alluring  iniquities  of  the  painted  imagery 
which,  gaudy  in  crimson  and  blue,  still  blazed  out 
upon  the  desolate  solitude,  uninjured  by  that  rain- 
less air.  But  he  was  young,  and  youth  is  curious ; 
and  the  devil,  at  least  in  the  fifth  century,  busy  with 
young  brains.  Now  Philammon  believed  most 
utterly  in  the  devil,  and  night  and  day  devoutly 
prayed  to  be  delivered  from  him;  so  he  crossed 
himself,  and  ejaculated,  honestly  enough,  "  Lord, 
turn  away  mine  eyes,  lest  they  behold  vanity !  "  .  .  . 
and  looked  nevertheless.  .  .  . 

And  who  could  have  helped  looking  at  those 
four  colossal  kings,  who  sat  there  grim  and  motion- 
less, their  huge  hands  laid  upon  their  knees  in 
everlasting  self-assured  repose,  seeming  to  bear  up 
the  mountain  on  their  stately  heads?  A  sense  of 
awe,  weakness,  all  but  fear,  came  over  him.  He 
dare  not  stoop  to  take  up  the  wood  at  his  feet,  their 
great  stern  eyes  watched  him  so  steadily. 

Round  their  knees  and  round  their  thrones  were 
mystic  characters  engraven,  symbol  after  symbol, 
line  below  line  —  the  ancient  wisdom  of  the  Egyp- 
tians, wherein  Moses  the  man  of  God  was  learned 
of  old  —  why  should  not  he  know  it  too  ?  What 
awful  secrets  might  not  be  hidden  there  about  the 


4  Hypatia 

great  world,  past,  present,  and  future,  of  which  he 
knew  only  so  small  a  speck  ?  Those  kings  who  sat 
there,  they  had  known  it  all ;  their  sharp  lips  seem 
parting,  ready  to  speak  to  him.  .  .  .  Oh  that  they 
would  speak  for  once !  .  .  .  and  yet  that  grim 
sneering  smile,  that  seemed  to  look  down  on  him 
from  the  heights  of  their  power  and  wisdom,  with 
calm  contempt  .  .  .  him,  the  poor  youth,  picking 
up  the  leaving  and  rags  of  their  past  majesty.  .  .  . 
He  dared  look  at  them  no  more. 

So  he  looked  past  them  into  the  temple  halls ; 
into  a  lustrous  abyss  of  cool  green  shade,  deepen- 
ing on  and  inward,  pillar  after  pillar,  vista  after 
vista,  into  deepest  night.  And  dimly  through  the 
gloom  he  could  descry,  on  every  wall  and  column, 
gorgeous  arabesques,  long  lines  of  pictured  story ; 
triumphs  and  labors ;  rows  of  captives  in  foreign 
and  fantastic  dresses,  leading  strange  animals,  bear- 
ing the  tributes  of  unknown  lands ;  rows  of  ladies 
at  feasts,  their  heads  crowned  with  garlands,  the 
fragrant  lotus-flower  in  every  hand,  while  slaves 
brought  wine  and  perfumes,  and  children  sat  upon 
their  knees,  and  husbands  by  their  side ;  and  danc- 
ing girls,  in  transparent  robes  and  golden  girdles, 
tossed  their  tawny  limbs  wildly  among  the 
throng.  .  .  .  What  was  the  meaning  of  it  all? 
Why  had  it  all  been  ?  Why  had  it  gone  on  thus, 
the  great  world,  century  after  century,  millennium 
after  millennium,  eating  and  drinking,  and  marry- 
ing and  giving  in  marriage,  and  knowing  nothing 
better  .  .  .  how  could  they  know  anything  better? 
Their  forefathers  had  lost  the  light  ages  and  ages 
before  they  were  born.  .  .  .  And  Christ  had  not 
come  for  ages  and  ages  after  they  were  dead.  .  .  . 
How  could  they  know?  .  .  .  And  yet  they  were 


The  Laura  5 

all  in  hell  .  .  .  every  one  of  them.  Every  one  of 
these  ladies  who  sat  there,  with  her  bushy  locks, 
and  garlands,  and  jewelled  collars,  and  lotus-flowers, 
and  gauzy  dress,  displaying  all  her  slender  limbs  -*— 
who,  perhaps,  when  she  was  alive,  smiled  so 
sweetly,  and  went  so  gaily,  and  had  children,  and 
friends,  and  never  once  thought  of  what  was  going 
to  happen  to  her  —  what  must  happen  to  her.  .  .  . 
She  was  in  hell.  .  .  .  Burning  for  ever,  and  ever,  and 
ever,  there  below  his  feet.  He  stared  down  on  the 
rocky  floors.  If  he  could  but  see  through  them .  .  . 
and  the  eye  of  faith  could  see  through  them  ...  he 
should  behold  her  writhing  and  twisting  among  the 
flickering  flame,  scorched,  glowing  ...  in  everlast- 
ing agony,  such  as  the  thought  of  enduring  for  a  mo- 
ment made  him  shudder.  He  had  burnt  his  hands 
once,  when  a  palm-leaf  hut  caught  fire.  .  .  .  He 
recollected  what  that  was  like.  .  .  .  She  was  en- 
during ten  thousand  times  more  than  that  for 
ever.  .  .  .  He  should  hear  her  shrieking  in  vain  for 
a  drop  of  water  to  cool  her  tongue.  .  .  .  He  had 
never  heard  a  human  being  shriek  but  once  ...  a 
boy  bathing  on  the  opposite  Nile  bank,  whom  a 
crocodile  had  dragged  down  .  .  .  and  that  scream, 
faint  and  distantas  it  came  across  the  mighty  tide,  had 
rung  intolerable  in  his  ears  for  days  .  .  .  and  to  think 
of  all  which  echoed  through  those  vaults  of  fire —  for 
ever  !  Was  the  thought  bearable  !  —  was  it  possi- 
ble !  Millions  upon  millions  burning  for  ever  for 
Adam's  fall.  .  .  .  Could  God  be  just  in  that?  .  .  . 
It  was  the  temptation  of  a  fiend  !  He  had  entered 
the  unhallowed  precincts,  where  devils  still  lingered 
about  their  ancient  shrines;  he  had  let  his  eyes 
devour  the  abominations  of  the  heathen,  and  given 
place  to  the  devil.  He  would  flee  home  to  confess 


6  Hypatia 

it  all  to  his  father.  He  would  punish  him  as  he 
deserved,  pray  for  him,  forgive  him.  And  yet 
could  he  tell  him  all?  Could  he,  dare  he  confess 
to  him  the  whole  truth  —  the  insatiable  craving  to 
know  the  mysteries  of  learning  —  to  see  the  great 
roaring  world  of  men,  which  had  been  growing  up 
in  him  slowly,  month  after  month,  till  now  it  had 
assumed  this  fearful  shape?  He  could  stay  no 
longer  in  the  desert.  This  world  which  sent  all 
souls  to  hell  —  was  it  as  bad  as  monks  declared  it 
was  ?  It  must  be,  else  how  could  such  be  the  fruit 
of  it  ?  But  it  was  too  awful  a  thought  to  be  taken 
on  trust.  No ;  he  must  go  and  see. 

Filled  with  such  fearful  questionings,  half-inar- 
ticulate and  vague,  like  the  thoughts  of  a  child, 
the  untutored  youth  went  wandering  on,  till  he 
reached  the  edge  of  the  cliff  below  which  lay  his 
home. 

It  lay  pleasantly  enough,  that  lonely  Laura,  or 
lane  of  rude  Cyclopean  cells,  under  the  perpetual 
shadow  of  the  southern  wall  of  crags,  amid  its 
grove  of  ancient  date-trees.  A  branching  cavern 
in  the  cliff  supplied  the  purposes  of  a  chapel,  a 
store-house,  and  a  hospital;  while  on  the  sunny 
slope  across  the  glen  lay  the  common  gardens  of 
the  brotherhood,  green  with  millet,  maize,  and 
beans,  among  which  a  tiny  streamlet,  husbanded 
and  guided  with  the  most  thrifty  care,  wandered 
down  from  the  cliff  foot,  and  spread  perpetual  ver- 
dure over  the  little  plot  which  voluntary  and 
fraternal  labor  had  painfully  redeemed  from  the 
inroads  of  the  all-devouring  sand.  For  that  gar- 
den, like  everything  else  in  the  Laura,  except  each 
brother's  seven  feet  of  stone  sleeping-hut,  was  the 
common  property,  and  therefore  the  common  care 


The  Laura  7 

and  joy  of  all.  For  the  common  good,  as  well  as 
for  his  own,  each  man  had  toiled  up  the  glen  with 
his  palm-leaf  basket  of  black  mud  from  the  river 
Nile,  over  whose  broad  sheet  of  silver  the  glen's 
mouth  yawned  abrupt.  For  the  common  good, 
each  man  had  swept  the  ledges  clear  of  sand,  and 
sown  in  the  scanty  artificial  soil,  the  harvest  of 
which  all  were  to  share  alike.  To  buy  clothes, 
books,  and  chapel-furniture  for  the  common  neces- 
sities, education,  and  worship,  each  man  sat,  day 
after  day,  week  after  week,  his  mind  full  of  high 
and  heavenly  thoughts,  weaving  the  leaves  of  their 
little  palm-copse  into  baskets,  which  an  aged  monk 
exchanged  for  goods  with  the  more  prosper- 
ous and  frequented  monasteries  of  the  opposite 
bank.  Thither  Philammon  rowed  the  old  man 
over,  week  by  week,  in  a  light  canoe  of  papyrus, 
and  fished,  as  he  sat  waiting  for  him,  for  the  com- 
mon meal.  A  simple,  happy,  gentle  life  was  that 
of  the  Laura,  all  portioned  out  by  rules  and  methods, 
which  were  held  hardly  less  sacred  than  those  of 
the  Scriptures,  on  which  they  were  supposed  (and 
not  so  wrongly  either)  to  have  been  framed.  Each 
man  had  food  and  raiment,  shelter  on  earth,  friends 
and  counsellors,  living  trust  in  the  continual  care 
of  Almighty  God ;  and,  blazing  before  his  eyes,  by 
day  and  night,  the  hope  of  everlasting  glory  be- 
yond all  poets'  dreams.  .  .  .  And  what  more  would 
man  have  had  in  those  days?  Thither  they  had 
fled  out  of  cities,  compared  with  which  Paris  is 
earnest  and  Gomorrah  chaste,  —  out  of  a  rotten, 
infernal,  dying  world  of  tyrants  and  slaves,  hypo- 
crites and  wantons,  —  to  ponder  undisturbed  on 
duty  and  on  judgment,  on  death  and  eternity, 
heaven  and  hell ;  to  find  a  common  creed,  a  com- 


8  Hypatia 

mon  interest,  a  common  hope,  common  duties, 
pleasures,  and  sorrows.  .  .  .  True,  they  had  many 
of  them  fled  from  the  post  where  God  had  placed 
them,  when  they  fled  from  man  into  the  Thebaid 
waste.  .  .  .  What  sort  of  post  and  what  sort  of 
an  age  they  were,  from  which  those  old  monks 
fled,  we  shall  see,  perhaps,  before  this  tale  is  told 
out. 

"  Thou  art  late,  son,"  said  the  abbot,  steadfastly 
working  away  at  his  palm-basket,  as  Philammon 
approached. 

"  Fuel  is  scarce,  and  I  was  forced  to  go  far." 
"  A  monk  should  not  answer  till  he  is  questioned. 
I  did  not  ask  the  reason.    Where  didst  thou  find 
that  wood?" 

"  Before  the  temple,  far  up  the  glen." 
"  The  temple  !     What  didst  thou  see  there  ?  " 
No  answer.      Pambo  looked  up  with  his  keen 
black  eye. 

"  Thou  hast  entered  it,  and  lusted  after  its  abomi- 
nations." 

"I  —  I  did  not  enter ;  but  I  looked " 

"  And  what  didst  thou  see  ?    Women  ?  " 
Philammon  was  silent. 

"  Have  I  not  bidden  you  never  to  look  on  the 
face  of  women?  Are  they  not  the  first  fruits  of 
the  devil,  the  authors  of  all  evil,  the  subtlest  of  all 
Satan's  snares?  Are  they  not  accursed  for  ever, 
for  the  deceit  of  their  first  mother,  by  whom  sin 
entered  into  the  world?  A  woman  first  opened 
the  gates  of  hell ;  and,  until  this  day,  they  are  the 
portresses  thereof.  Unhappy  boy!  What  hast 
thou  done?" 

"  They  were  but  painted  on  the  walls." 

"  Ah !  "  said  the  abbot,  as  if  suddenly  relieved 


The  Laura  9 

from  a  heavy  burden.  "But  how  knewest  thou 
them  to  be  women,  when  thou  hast  never  yet,  un- 
less thou  liest — which  I  believe  not  of  thee  —  seen 
the  face  of  a  daughter  of  Eve  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  —  perhaps,"  said  Philammon,  as  if 
suddenly  relieved  by  a  new  suggestion  —  "  perhaps 
they  were  only  devils.  They  must  have  been,  I 
think,  for  they  were  so  very  beautiful." 

"  Ah  !  how  knowest  thou  that  devils  are  beauti- 
ful?" 

"  I  was  launching  the  boat,  a  week  ago,  with 
Father  Aufugus ;  and  on  the  bank,  .  .  .  not  very 
near,  .  .  .  there  were  two  creatures  .  .  .  with  long 
hair,  and  striped  all  over  the  lower  half  of  their 
bodies  with  black,  and  red,  and  yellow  .  .  .  and 
they  were  gathering  flowers  on  the  shore.  Father 
Aufugus  turned  away ;  but  I  ...  I  could  not  help 
thinking  them  the  most  beautiful  things  that  I  had 
ever  seen  ...  so  I  asked  him  why  he  turned 
away ;  and  he  said  that  those  were  the  same  sort 
of  devils  which  tempted  the  blessed  St.  Anthony. 
Then  I  recollected  having  heard  it  read  aloud,  how 
Satan  tempted  Anthony  in  the  shape  of  a  beautiful 
woman.  .  .  .  And  so  ...  and  so  ...  those  figures 
on  the  wall  were  very  like  .  .  .  and  I  thought  they 
might  be  .  .  ." 

And  the  poor  boy,  who  considered  that  he  was 
making  confession  of  a  deadly  and  shameful  sin, 
blushed  scarlet,  and  stammered,  and  at  last 
stopped. 

"And  thou  thoughtest  them  beautiful?  Oh 
utter  corruption  of  the  flesh !  —  oh  subtilty  of 
Satan  !  The  Lord  forgive  thee,  as  I  do,  my  poor 
child :  henceforth  thou  goest  not  beyond  the  garden 
walls." 


I  o  Hypatia 

"  Not  beyond  the  walls  ?  Impossible  !  I  cannot ! 
If  thou  wert  not  my  father,  I  would  say,  I  will  not ! 
>—  I  must  have  liberty  !  — I  must  see  for  myself — 
I  must  judge  for  myself,  what  this  world  is  of  which 
you  all  talk  so  bitterly.  I  long  for  no  pomps  and 
vanities.  I  will  promise  you  this  moment,  if  you 
will,  never  to  re-enter  a  heathen  temple  —  to  hide 
my  face  in  the  dust  whenever  I  approach  a  woman. 
But  I  must —  I  must  see  the  world ;  I  must  see  the 
great  mother-church  in  Alexandria,  and  the  patri- 
arch, and  his  clergy.  If  they  can  serve  God  in  the 
city,  why  not  I  ?  I  could  do  more  for  God  there 
than  here.  .  .  .  Not  that  I  despise  this  work  —  not 
that  I  am  ungrateful  to  you  —  oh,  never,  never 
that !  —  but  I  pant  for  the  battle.  Let  me  go !  I 
am  not  discontented  with  you,  but  with  myself. 
I  know  that  obedience  is  noble;  but  danger  is 
nobler  still.  If  you  have  seen  the  world,  why 
should  not  I  ?  If  you  have  fled  from  it  because 
you  found  it  too  evil  to  live  in,  why  should  not  I, 
and  return  to  you  here  of  my  own  will,  never  to 
kave  you?  .  .  .  And  yet  Cyril  and  his  clergy  have 
not  fled  from  it  .  .  ." 

Desperately  and  breathlessly  did  Philammon 
drive  this  speech  out  of  his  inmost  heart;  and 
then  waited,  expecting  the  good  abbot  to  strike 
him  on  the  spot.  If  he  had,  the  young  man  would 
have  submitted  patiently ;  so  would  any  man,  how- 
ever venerable,  in  that  monastery.  Why  not? 
Duly,  after  long  companionship,  thought,  and 
prayer,  they  had  elected  Pambo  for  their  abbot  — 
abba  —  father  —  the  wisest,  eldest-hearted  and 
headed  of  them  —  if  he  was  that,  it  was  time  that 
he  should  be  obeyed.  And  obeyed  he  was,  with  a 
loyal,  reasonable  love,  and  yet  with  an  implicit, 


The  Laura  1 1 

soldier-like  obedience,  which  many  a  king  and 
conqueror  might  envy.  Were  they  cowards  and 
slaves?  The  Roman  legionaries  should  be  good 
judges  on  that  point.  They  used  to  say  that  no 
armed  barbarian,  Goth  or  Vandal,  Moor  or  Span- 
iard, was  so  terrible  as  the  unarmed  monk  of  the 
Thebaid. 

Twice  the  old  man  lifted  his  staff  to  strike; 
twice  he  laid  it  down  again ;  and  then,  slowly  ris- 
ing, left  Philammon  kneeling  there,  and  moved 
away  deliberately,  and  with  eyes  fixed  on  the 
ground,  to  the  house  of  the  brother  Aufugus. 

Every  one  in  the  Laura  honored  Aufugus. 
There  was  a  mystery  about  him  which  heightened 
the  charm  of  his  surpassing  sanctity,  his  childlike 
sweetness  and  humilty.  It  was  whispered  —  when 
the  monks  seldom  and  cautiously  did  whisper 
together  in  their  lonely  walks  —  that  he  had  been 
once  a  great  man ;  that  he  had  come  from  a  great 
city  —  perhaps  from  Rome  itself.  And  the  simple 
monks  were  proud  to  think  that  they  had  among 
them  a  man  who  had  seen  Rome.  At  least, 
Abbot  Pambo  respected  him.  He  was  never 
beaten;  never  even  reproved  —  perhaps  he  never 
required  it ;  but  still  it  was  the  meed  of  all ;  and 
was  not  the  abbot  a  little  partial?  Yet,  certainly, 
when  Theophilus  sent  up  a  messenger  from  Alex- 
andria, rousing  every  Laura  with  the  news  of  the 
sack  of  Rome  by  Alaric,  did  not  Pambo  take  him 
first  to  the  cell  of  Aufugus,  and  sit  with  him  there 
three  whole  hours  in  secret  consultation,  before  he 
told  the  awful  story  to  the  rest  of  the  brotherhood  ? 
And  did  not  Aufugus  himself  give  letters  to  the 
messenger,  written  with  his  own  hand,  containing, 
as  was  said,  deep  secrets  of  worldly  policy,  known 


1 2  Hypatia 

only  to  himself?  So,  when  the  little  lane  of  holy 
men,  each  peering  stealthily  over  his  plaiting-work 
from  the  doorway  of  his  sandstone  cell,  saw  the 
abbot,  after  his  unwonted  passion,  leave  the  cul- 
prit kneeling,  and  take  his  way  toward  the  sage's 
dwelling,  they  judged  that  something  strange  and 
delicate  had  befallen  the  common  weal,  and  each 
wished,  without  envy,  that  he  were  as  wise  as  the 
man  whose  counsel  was  to  solve  the  difficulty. 

For  an  hour  or  more  the  abbot  remained  there, 
talking  earnestly  and  low;  and  then  a  solemn 
sound  as  of  the  two  old  men  praying  with  sobs  and 
tears;  and  every  brother  bowed  his  head,  and 
'whispered  a  hope  that  He  whom  they  served  might 
guide  them  for  the  good  of  the  Laura,  and  of  His 
Church,  and  of  the  great  heathen  world  beyond ; 
and  still  Philammon  knelt  motionless,  awaiting  his 
sentence;  his  heart  filled  —  who  can  tell  how? 
"  The  heart  knoweth  its  own  bitterness,  and  a 
stranger  intermeddleth  not  with  its  joy."  So 
thought  he  as  he  knelt ;  and  so  think  I,  too,  know- 
ing that  in  the  pettiest  character  there  are  un- 
fathomable depths,  which  the  poet,  all-seeing 
though  he  may  pretend  to  be,  can  never  analyze, 
but  must  only  dimly  guess  at,  and  still  more  dimly 
sketch  them  by  the  actions  which  they  beget. 

At  last  Pambo  returned,  deliberate,  still,  and 
slow,  as  he  had  gone,  and  seating  himself  within 
his  cell,  spoke: 

"And  the  youngest  said,  Father,  give  me  the 
portion  of  goods  that  falleth  to  my  share.  .  .  .  And 
he  took  his  journey  into  a  far  country,  and  there 
wasted  his  substance  with  riotous  living.  Thou 
shalt  go,  my  son.  But  first  come  after  me,  and 
speak  with  Aufugus." 


The  Laura  13 

Philammon,  like  every  one  else,  loved  Aufugus ; 
and  when  the  abbot  retired  and  left  the  two  alone 
together,  he  felt  no  dread  or  shame  about  unbur- 
dening his  whole  heart  to  him.  Long  and  pas- 
sionately he  spoke,  in  answer  to  the  gentle 
questions  of  the  old  man,  who,  without  the  rigidity 
or  pedantic  solemnity  of  the  monk,  interrupted  the 
youth,  and  let  himself  be  interrupted  in  return, 
gracefully,  genially,  almost  playfully.  And  yet 
there  was  a  melancholy  about  his  tone  as  he 
answered  to  the  youth's  appeal: 

"  Tertullian,  Origen,  Clement,  Cyprian  —  all 
these  moved  in  the  world;  all  these  and  many 
more  beside,  whose  names  we  honor,  whose  prayers 
we  invoke,  were  learned  in  the  wisdom  of  the 
heathen,  and  fought  and  labored,  unspotted,  in  the 
world ;  and  why  not  I  ?  Cyril  the  Patriarch  him- 
self, was  he  not  called  from  the  caves  of  Nitria  to 
sit  on  the  throne  of  Alexandria?" 

Slowly  the  old  man  lifted  his  hand,  and  putting 
back  the  thick  locks  of  the  kneeling  youth,  gazed, 
with  soft  pitying  eyes,  long  and  earnestly  into  his 
face. 

"And  thou  wouldst  see  the  world,  poor  fool? 
And  thou  wouldst  see  the  world  ?  " 

"  I  would  convert  the  world  !  " 

"  Thou  must  know  it  first.  And  shall  I  tell  thee 
what  that  world  is  like,  which  seems  to  thee  so 
easy  to  convert?  Here  I  sit,  the  poor  unknown 
old  monk,  until  I  die,  fasting  and  praying,  if  per- 
haps God  will  have  mercy  on  my  soul :  but  little 
thou  knowest  how  I  have  seen  it.  Little  thou 
knowest,  or  thou  wouldst  be  well  content  to  rest 
here  till  the  end.  I  was  Arsenius.  .  .  .  Ah !  vain 
old  man  that  I  am !  Thou  hast  never  heard  that 


1 4  Hypatia 

name,  at  which  once  queens  would  whisper  and 
grow  pale.  Vanitas  vanitatum!  omnia  vanitasl 
And  yet  he,  at  whose  frown  half  the  world  trem- 
bles, has  trembled  himself  at  mine.  I  was  the 
tutor  of  Arcadius." 

"The  Emperor  of  Byzantium  ?" 

"  Even  so,  my  son,  even  so.  There  I  saw  the 
world  which  thou  wouldst  see.  And  what  saw  I? 
Even  what  thou  wilt  see.  Eunuchs  the  tyrants  of 
their  own  sovereigns.  Bishops  kissing  the  feet  of 
parricides  and  harlots.  Saints  tearing  saints  in 
pieces  for  a  word,  while  sinners  cheer  them  on  to 
the  unnatural  fight.  Liars  thanked  for  lying, 
hypocrites  taking  pride  in  their  hypocrisy.  The 
many  sold  and  butchered  for  the  malice,  the 
caprice,  the  vanity  of  the  few.  The  plunderers  of 
the  poor  plundered  in  their  turn  by  worse  de- 
vourers  than  themselves.  Every  attempt  at  reform 
the  parent  of  worse  scandals ;  every  mercy  beget- 
ting fresh  cruelties;  every  persecutor  silenced, 
only  to  enable  others  to  persecute  him  in  their 
turn :  every  devil  who  is  exorcised,  returning  with 
seven  others  worse  than  himself;  falsehood  and 
selfishness,  spite  and  lust,  confusion  seven  times 
confounded,  Satan  casting  out  Satan  everywhere  — 
from  the  emperor  who  wantons  on  his  throne,  to 
the  slave  who  blasphemes  beneatk  his  fetters." 

"  If  Satan  cast  out  Satan,  his  kingdom  shall  not 
stand." 

"  In  the  world  to  come.  But  in  this  world  it 
shall  stand  and  conquer,  even  worse  and  worse, 
until  the  end.  These  are  the  last  days  spoken  of 
by  the  prophets,  the  beginning  of  woes  such  as 
never  have  been  on  the  earth  before — 'On  earth 
distress  of  nations  with  perplexity,  men's  hearts 


The  Laura  15 

failing  them  for  fear,  and  for  the  dread  of  those 
things  which  are  coming  on  .the  earth.'  I  have 
seen  it  long.  Year  after  year  I  have  watched  them 
coming  nearer  and  ever  nearer  in  their  course,  like 
the  whirling  sand-storms  of  the  desert,  which  sweep 
past  the  caravan,  and  past  again,  and  yet  over- 
whelm it  after  all  —  that  black  flood  of  the  northern 
barbarians.  I  foretold  it;  I  prayed  against  it; 
but,  like  Cassandra's  of  old,  my  prophecy  and  my 
prayers  were  alike  unheard.  My  pupil  spurned  my 
warnings.  The  lusts  of  youth,  the  intrigues  of 
courtiers,  were  stronger  than  the  warning  voice  of 
God ;  then  I  ceased  to  hope ;  I  ceased  to  pray  for 
the  glorious  city,  for  I  knew  that  her  sentence  was 
gone  forth;  I  saw  her  in  the  spirit,  even  as  St. 
John  saw  her  in  the  Revelations;  her,  and  her 
sins,  and  her  ruin.  And  I  fled  secretly  at  night, 
and  buried  myself  here  in  the  desert,  to  await  the 
end  of  the  world.  Night  and  day  I  pray  the  Lord 
to  accomplish  His  elect,  and  to  hasten  His  king- 
dom. Morning  by  morning  I  look  up  trembling, 
and  yet  in  hope,  for  the  sign  of  the  Son  of  man  in 
heaven,  when  the  sun  shall  be  turned  into  dark- 
ness, and  the  moon  into  blood,  and  the  stars  shall 
fall  from  heaven,  and  the  skies  pass  away  like  a 
scroll,  and  the  fountains  of  the  nether  fire  burst  up 
around  our  feet,  and  the  end  of  all  shall  come.  And 
thou  wouldst  go  into  the  world  from  which  I  fled  ?  " 

"If  the  harvest  be  at  hand,  the  Lord  needs 
laborers.  If  the  times  be  awful,  I  should  be  doing 
awful  things  in  them.  Send  me,  and  let  that  day 
find  me,  where  I  long  to  be,  in  the  forefront  of  the 
battle  of  the  Lord." 

"  The  Lord's  voice  be  obeyed  !  Thou  shalt  go. 
Here  are  letters  to  Cyril  the  patriarch.  He  will 


1 6  Hypatia 

love  thee  for  my  sake :  and  for  thine  own  sake,  too, 
I  trust.  Thou  goest  of  our  free  will  as  well  as 
thine  own.  The  abbot  and  I  have  watched  thee 
long,  knowing  that  the  Lord  had  need  of  such  as 
thee  elsewhere.  We  did  but  prove  thee,  to  see  by 
thy  readiness  to  obey,  whether  thou  wert  fit  to 
rule.  Go,  and  God  be  with  thee.  Covet  no  man's 
gold  or  silver.  Neither  eat  flesh  nor  drink  wine, 
but  live  as  thou  hast  lived  —  a  Nazarite  of  the 
Lord.  Fear  not  the  face  of  man ;  but  look  not  on 
the  face  of  woman.  In  an  evil  hour  came  they 
into  the  world,  the  mothers  of  all  mischiefs  which 
I  have  seen  under  the  sun.  Come ;  the  abbot  waits 
for  us  at  the  gate." 

With  tears  of  surprise,  joy,  sorrow,  almost  of 
dread,  Philammon  hung  back. 

"  Nay  —  come.  Why  shouldst  thou  break  thy 
brethren's  hearts  and  ours  by  many  leave-takings ! 
Bring  from  the  store-house  a  week's  provision  of 
dried  dates  and  millet.  The  papyrus  boat  lies  at 
the  ferry;  thou  shalt  descend  in  it.  The  Lord 
will  replace  it  for  us  when  we  need  it.  Speak 
with  no  man  on  the  river  except  the  monks  of 
God.  When  thou  hast  gone  five  days'  journey 
downward,  ask  for  the  mouth  of  the  canal  of 
Alexandria.  Once  in  the  city,  any  monk  will 
guide  thee  to  the  archbishop.  Send  us  news  of 
thy  welfare  by  some  holy  mouth.  Come." 

Silently  they  paced  together  down  the  glen  to 
the  lonely  beach  of  the  great  stream.  Pambo  was 
there  already,  his  white  hair  glittering  in  the  rising 
moon,  as  with  slow  and  feeble  arms  he  launched 
the  light  canoe.  Philammon  flung  himself  at  the 
old  men's  feet,  and  besought,  with  many  tears,  their 
forgiveness  and  their  blessing. 


The  Laura  17 

"We  have  nothing  to  forgive.  Follow  thou 
thine  inward  call.  If  it  be  of  the  flesh,  it  will 
avenge  itself;  if  it  be  of  the  Spirit,  who  are  we 
that  we  should  fight  against  God?  Farewell." 

A  few  minutes  more,  and  the  youth  and  his  canoe 
were  lessening  down  the  rapid  stream  in  the  golden 
summer  twilight.  Again  a  minute,  and  the  swift 
southern  night  had  fallen,  and  all  was  dark  but 
the  cold  glare  of  the  moon  on  the  river,  and  on 
the  rock-faces,  and  on  the  two  old  men,  as  they 
knelt  upon  the  beach,  and  with  their  heads  upon 
each  other's  shoulders,  like  two  children,  sobbed 
and  prayed  together  for  the  lost  darling  of  their 
age. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  DYING  WORLD 

IN  the  upper  story  of  a  house  in  the  Museum 
Street  of  Alexandria,  built  and  fitted  up  on 
the  old  Athenian  model,  was  a  small  room.  It  had 
been  chosen  by  its  occupant,  not  merely  on  account 
of  its  quiet;  for  though  it  was  tolerably  out  of 
hearing  of  the  female  slaves  who  worked,  and 
chattered,  and  quarrelled  under  the  cloisters  of  the 
women's  court  on  the  south  side,  yet  it  was  exposed 
to  the  rattle  of  carriages  and  the  voices  of  passengers 
in  the  fashionable  street  below,  and  to  strange 
bursts  of  roaring,  squealing,  and  trumpeting  from 
the  Menagerie,  a  short  way  off,  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  street.  The  attraction  of  the  situation 
lay,  perhaps,  in  the  view  which  it  commanded  over 
the  wall  of  the  Museum  gardens,  of  flower-beds, 
shrubberies,  fountains,  statues,  walks,  and  alcoves, 
which  had  echoed  for  nearly  seven  hundred  years 
to  the  wisdom  of  the  Alexandrian  sages  and  poets. 
School  after  school,  they  had  all  walked,  and 
taught,  and  sung  there,  beneath  the  spreading 
planes  and  chestnuts,  figs  and  palm-trees.  The 
place  seemed  fragrant  with  all  the  riches  of  Greek 
thought  and  song,  since  the  days  when  Ptolemy 
Philadelphus  walked  there  with  Euclid  and  Theo- 
critus, Callimachus  and  Lycophron. 

On  the  left  of  the  garden  stretched  the  lofty 
eastern  front  of  the  Museum  itself,  with  its  picture 


The  Dying  World  19 

galleries,  halls  of  statuary,  dining-halls,  and  lecture- 
rooms;  one  huge  wing  containing  that  famous 
library,  founded  by  the  father  of  Philadelphus, 
which  held  in  the  time  of  Seneca,  even  after  the 
destruction  of  a  great  part  of  it  in  Caesar's  siege, 
four  hundred  thousand  manuscripts.  There  it 
towered  up,  the  wonder  of  the  world,  its  white  roof 
bright  against  the  rainless  blue;  and  beyond  it, 
among  the  ridges  and  pediments  of  noble  build- 
ings, a  broad  glimpse  of  the  bright  blue  sea. 

The  room  was  fitted  up  in  the  purest  Greek 
style,  not  without  an  affectation  of  archaism,  in  the 
severe  forms  and  subdued  half-tints  of  the  frescoes 
which  ornamented  the  walls  with  scenes  from  the 
old  myths  of  Athene.  Yet  the  general  effect,  even 
under  the  blazing  sun  which  poured  in  through 
the  mosquito  nets  of  the  courtyard  windows,  was 
one  of  exquisite  coolness,  and  cleanliness,  and 
repose.  The  room  had  neither  carpet  nor  fire- 
place; and  the  only  movables  in  it  were  a  sofa- 
bed,  a  table,  and  an  arm-chair,  all  of  such  delicate 
and  graceful  forms,  as  may  be  seen  on  ancient 
vases  of  a  far  earlier  period  than  that  whereof  we 
write.  But,  most  probably,  had  any  of  us  entered 
that  room  that  morning,  we  should  not  have  been 
able  to  spare  a  look  either  for  the  furniture,  or  the 
general  effect,  or  the  Museum  gardens,  or  the 
sparkling  Mediterranean  beyond;  but  we  should 
have  agreed  that  the  room  was  quite  rich  enough 
for  human  eyes,  for  the  sake  of  one  treasure  which 
it  possessed,  and,  beside  which,  nothing  was  worth 
a  moment's  glance.  For  in  the  light  arm-chair, 
reading  a  manuscript  which  lay  on  the  table,  sat  a 
woman,  of  some  five-and-twenty  years,  evidently 
the  tutelary  goddess  of  that  little  shrine,  dressed  in 


2O  Hypatia 

perfect  keeping  with  the  archaism  of  the  chamber, 
in  a  simple  old  snow-white  Ionic  robe,  falling  to  the 
feet  and  reaching  to  the  throat,  and  of  that  pecu- 
liarly severe  and  graceful  fashion  in  which  the 
upper  part  of  the  dress  falls  downward  again  from 
the  neck  to  the  waist  in  a  sort  of  cape,  entirely 
hiding  the  outline  of  the  bust,  while  it  leaves  the 
arms  and  the  point  of  the  shoulders  bare.  Her 
dress  was  entirely  without  ornament,  except  the  two 
narrow  purple  stripes  down  the  front,  which  marked 
her  rank  as  a  Roman  citizen,  the  gold-embroidered 
shoes  upon  her  feet,  and  the  gold  net,  which  looped 
back,  from  her  forehead  to  her  neck,  hair  the 
color  and  gloss  of  which  were  hardly  distinguish- 
able from  that  of  the  metal  itself,  such  as  Athene 
herself  might  have  envied  for  tint,  and  mass,  and 
ripple.  Her  features,  arms,  and  hands  were  of  the 
severest  and  grandest  type  of  old  Greek  beauty, 
at  once  showing  everywhere  the  high  development 
of  the  bones,  and  covering  them  with  that  firm, 
round,  ripe  outline,  and  waxy  morbidezza  of  skin, 
which  the  old  Greeks  owed  to  their  continual  use 
not  only  of  the  bath  and  muscular  exercise,  but 
also  of  daily  unguents.  There  might  have  seemed 
to  us  too  much  sadness  in  that  clear  gray  eye ;  too 
much  self-conscious  restraint  in  those  sharp  curved 
lips ;  too  much  affectation  in  the  studied  severity 
of  her  posture  as  she  read,  copied,  as  it  seemed, 
from  some  old  vase  or  bas-relief.  But  the  glorious 
grace  and  beauty  of  every  line  of  face  and  figure 
would  have  excused,  even  hidden  those  defects, 
and  we  should  have  only  recognized  the  marked 
resemblance  to  the  ideal  portraits  of  Athene  which 
adorned  every  panel  of  the  walls. 

She  has  lifted  her  eyes  off  her  manuscript ;  she 


The  Dying  World  21 

is  looking  out  with  kindling  countenance  over  the 
gardens  of  the  Museum;  her  ripe  curling  Greek 
lips,  such  as  we  never  see  now,  even  among  our 
own  wives  and  sisters,  open.  She  is  talking  to 
herself.  Listen ! 

"  Yes.  The  statues  there  are  broken.  The  libra- 
ries are  plundered.  The  alcoves  are  silent.  The 
oracles  are  dumb.  And  yet — who  says  that  the 
old  faith  of  heroes  and  sages  is  dead?  The  beautiful 
can  never  die.  If  the  gods  have  deserted  their 
oracles,  they  have  not  deserted  the  souls  who 
aspire  to  them.  If  they  have  ceased  to  guide 
nations,  they  have  not  ceased  to  speak  to  their 
own  elect.  If  they  have  cast  off  the  vulgar  herd, 
they  have  not  cast  off  Hypatia. 

"  Ay.  To  believe  in  the  old  creeds,  while  every 
one  else  is  dropping  away  from  them.  ...  To 
believe  in  spite  of  disappointments.  .  .  .  To  hope 
against  hope.  .  .  .  To  show  oneself  superior  to 
the  herd,  by  seeing  boundless  depths  of  living 
glory  in  myths  which  have  become  dark  and  dead 
to  them.  .  .  .  To  struggle  to  the  last  against  the 
new  and  vulgar  superstitions  of  a  rotting  age,  for 
the  faith  of  my  forefathers,  for  the  old  gods,  the 
old  heroes,  the  old  sages  who  gauged  the  myste- 
ries of  heaven  and  earth  —  and  perhaps  to  conquer 
—  at  least  to  have  my  reward  !  To  be  welcomed 
into  the  celestial  ranks  of  the  heroic  —  to  rise  to 
the  immortal  gods,  to  the  ineffable  powers,  onward, 
upward  ever,  through  ages  and  through  eternities, 
till  I  find  my  home  at  last,  and  vanish  in  the  glory 
of  the  Nameless  and  the  Absolute  One !  .  .  ." 

And  her  whole  face  flashed  out  into  wild  glory, 
and  then  sank  again  suddenly  into  a  shudder  of  some- 


22  Hypatia 

thing  like  fear  and  disgust,  as  she  saw,  watching 
her  from  under  the  wall  of  the  gardens  opposite,  a 
crooked,  withered  Jewish  crone,  dressed  out  in  the 
most  gorgeous  and  fantastic  style  of  barbaric  finery. 

"  Why  does  that  old  hag  haunt  me  ?  I  see  her 
everywhere  —  till  the  last  month  at  least  —  and 
here  she  is  again !  I  will  ask  the  prefect  to  find 
out  who  she  is,  and  get  rid  of  her,  before  she 
fascinates  me  with  that  evil  eye.  Thank  the  gods, 
there  she  moves  away !  Foolish  !  —  foolish  of  me, 
a  philosopher.  I,  to  believe,  against  the  authority 
of  Porphyry  himself,  too,  in  evil  eyes  and  magic! 
But  there  is  my  father,  pacing  up  and  down  in  the 
library." 

As  she  spoke,  the  old  man  entered  from  the 
next  room.  He  was  a  Greek,  also,  but  of  a  more 
common,  and,  perhaps,  lower  type;  dark  and 
fiery,  thin  and  graceful;  his  delicate  figure  and 
cheeks,  wasted  by  meditation,  harmonized  well  with 
the  staid  and  simple  philosophic  cloak  which  he  wore 
as  a  sign  of  his  profession.  He  paced  impatiently 
up  and  down  the  chamber,  while  his  keen,  glitter- 
ing eyes  and  restless  gestures  betokened  intense 
inward  thought.  .  .  . 

..."  I  have  it.  ...  No ;  again  it  escapes  —  it 
contradicts  itself.  Miserable  man  that  I  am !  If 
there  is  faith  in  Pythagoras,  the  symbol  should  be 
an  expanding  series  of  the  powers  of  three ;  and 
yet  that  accursed  binary  factor  will  introduce  itself. 
Did  not  you  work  the  sum  out  once,  Hypatia?" 

"  Sit  down,  my  dear  father,  and  eat.  You  have 
tasted  no  food  yet  this  day." 

"  What  do  I  care  for  food !  The  inexpressible 
must  be  expressed,  the  work  must  be  done  if  it 
cost  me  the  squaring  of  the  circle.  How  can  he, 


The  Dying  World  23 

whose  sphere  lies  above  the  stars,  stoop  every 
moment  to  earth?" 

"  Ay,"  she  answered,  half  bitterly,  "  and  would 
that  we  could  live  without  food,  and  imitate 
perfectly  the  immortal  gods.  But  while  we  are 
in  this  prison-house  of  matter,  we  must  wear  our 
chain;  even  wear  it  gracefully,  if  we  have  the 
good  taste ;  and  make  the  base  necessities  of  this 
body  of  shame  symbolic  of  the  divine  food  of  the 
reason.  There  is  fruit,  with  lentils  and  rice, 
waiting  for  you  in  the  next  room;  and  bread, 
unless  you  despise  it  too  much." 

"  The  food  of  slaves  !  "  he  answered.  "  Well,  I 
will  eat,  and  be  ashamed  of  eating.  Stay,  did  I 
tell  you?  Six  new  pupils  in  the  mathematical 
school  this  morning.  It  grows !  It  spreads !  We 
shall  conquer  yet !  " 

She  sighed.  "  How  do  you  know  that  they  have 
not  come  to  you,  as  Critias  and  Alcibiades  did  to 
Socrates,  to  learn  a  merely  political  and  mundane 
virtue  ?  Strange !  that  men  should  be  content  to 
grovel,  and  be  men,  when  they  might  rise  to  the 
rank  of  gods !  Ah,  my  father !  That  is  my 
bitterest  grief;  to  see  those  who  have  been  pre- 
tending in  the  morning  lecture-room  to  worship 
every  word  of  mine  as  an  oracle,  lounging  in  the 
afternoon  round  Pelagia's  litter ;  and  then  at  night 

—  for  I  know  that  they  do  it  —  the  dice,  and  the 
wine,  and  worse.     That  Pallas  herself  should  be 
conquered  every  day  by  Venus  Pandemos  !     That 
Pelagia  should    have  more  power   than  I !     Not 
that   such   a   creature   as   that    disturbs   me :    no 
created  thing,  I  hope,  can  move  my  equanimity; 
but  if  I  could  stoop  to  hate  —  I  should  hate  her 

—  hate  her." 


24  Hypatia 

And  her  voice  took  a  tone  which  made  it  some- 
what uncertain  whether,  in  spite  of  all  the  lofty 
impassibility  which  she  felt  bound  to  possess,  she 
did  not  hate  Pelagia  with  a  most  human  and 
mundane  hatred. 

But  at  that  moment  the  conversation  was  cut 
short  by  the  hasty  entrance  of  a  slave-girl,  who, 
with  fluttering  voice,  announced : 

"  His  excellency,  madam,  the  prefect !  His 
chariot  has  been  at  the  gate  for  these  five  minutes, 
and  he  is  now  coming  upstairs." 

"  Foolish  child  ! "  answered  Hypatia,  with  some 
affectation  of  indifference.  "  And  why  should  that 
disturb  me?  Let  him  enter." 

The  door  opened,  and  in  came,  preceded  by  the 
scent  of  half-a-dozen  different  perfumes,  a  florid, 
delicate-featured  man,  gorgeously  dressed  out  in 
senatorial  costume,  his  fingers  and  neck  covered 
with  jewels. 

"  The  representative  of  the  Caesars  honors  him- 
self by  offering  at  the  shrine  of  Athene  Polias,  and 
rejoices  to  see  in  her  priestess  as  lovely  a  likeness 
as  ever  of  the  goddess  whom  she  serves.  .  .  .  Don't 
betray  me,  but  I  really  cannot  help  talking  sheer 
paganism  whenever  I  find  myself  within  the  influ- 
ence of  your  eyes." 

"  Truth  is  mighty,"  said  Hypatia,  as  she  rose  to 
greet  him  with  a  smile  and  a  reverence. 

"Ah,  so  they  say  —  Your  excellent  father  has 
vanished.  He  is  really  too  modest  —  honest, 
though  —  about  his  incapacity  for  state  secrets. 
After  all,  you  know  it  was  your  Minervaship  which 
I  came  to  consult.  How  has  this  turbulent 
Alexandrian  rascaldom  been  behaving  itself  in  my 
absence  ?  " 


The  Dying  World  25 

"  The  herd  has  been  eating,  and  drinking,  and 
marrying,  as  usual,  I  believe,"  answered  Hypatia, 
in  a  languid  tone. 

"And  multiplying,  I  don't  doubt.  Well,  there 
will  be  less  loss  to  the  empire  if  I  have  to  crucify  a 
dozen  or  two,  as  I  positively  will,  the  next  riot.  It 
is  really  a  great  comfort  to  a  statesman  that  the 
masses  are  so  well  aware  that  they  deserve  hang- 
ing and  therefore  so  careful  to  prevent  any  danger 
of  public  justice  depopulating  the  province.  But 
how  go  on  the  schools?" 

Hypatia  shook  her  head  sadly. 

"  Ah,  boys  will  be  boys.  ...  I  plead  guilty  my- 
self. Video  meliora  proboque,  deteriora  sequor.  You 
must  not  be  hard  on  us.  ...  Whether  we  obey 
you  or  not  in  private  life,  we  do  in  public ;  and  if 
we  enthrone  you  queen  of  Alexandria,  you  must 
allow  your  courtiers  and  body-guards  a  few  court 
licenses.  Now  don't  sigh,  or  I  shall  be  inconsol- 
able. At  all  events,  your  worst  rival  has  betaken 
herself  to  the  wilderness,  and  gone  to  look  for  the 
city  of  the  gods  above  the  cataracts." 

"Whom  do  you  mean?"  asked  Hypatia,  in  a 
tone  most  unphilosophically  eager. 

"Pelagia,  of  course.  I  met  that  prettiest  and 
naughtiest  of  humanities  half-way  between  here  and 
Thebes,  transformed  into  a  perfect  Andromache  of 
chaste  affection." 

"And  to  whom,  pray?" 

"To  a  certain  Gothic  giant.  What  men  those 
barbarians  do  breed  !  I  was  afraid  of  being  crushed 
under  the  elephant's  foot  at  every  step  I  took  with 
him ! " 

"  What !  "  asked  Hypatia,  "  did  your  excellency 
condescend  to  converse  with  such  savages  ?  " 

C— Vol.  VI 


26  Hypatia 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,  he  had  some  forty  stout 
countrymen  of  his  with  him,  who  might  have  been 
troublesome  to  a  perplexed  prefect ;  not  to  men- 
tion that  it  is  always  as  well  to  keep  on  good  terms 
with  these  Goths.  Really,  after  the  sack  of  Rome, 
and  Athens  cleaned  out  like  a  beehive  by  wasps, 
things  begin  to  look  serious.  And  as  for  the  great 
brute  himself,  he  has  rank  enough  in  his  way,  — 
boasts  of  his  descent  from  some  cannibal  god  or 
other,  —  really  hardly  deigned  to  speak  to  a  paltry 
Roman  governor,  till  his  faithful  and  adoring  bride 
interceded  for  me.  Still,  the  fellow  understood 
good  living,  and  we  celebrated  our  new  treaty  of 
friendship  with  noble  libations  —  but  I  must  not 
talk  about  that  to  you.  However,  I  got  rid  of 
them;  quoted  all  the  geographical  lies  I  had 
ever  heard,  and  a  great  many  more;  quickened 
their  appetite  for  their  fool's  errand  notably,  and 
started  them  off  again.  So  now  the  star  of  Venus 
is  set,  and  that  of  Pallas  in  the  ascendant.  Where- 
fore tell  me  —  what  am  I  to  do  with  Saint  Fire- 
brand?" 

"Cyril?" 

"  Cyril." 

"  Justice." 

"  Ah,  Fairest  Wisdom,  don't  mention  that  horrid 
word  out  of  the  lecture-room.  In  theory  it  is  all 
very  well ;  but  in  poor  imperfect  earthly  practice,  a 
governor  must  be  content  with  doing  very  much 
what  comes  to  hand.  In  abstract  justice,  now,  I 
ought  to  nail  up  Cyril,  deacons,  district  visitors,  and 
all,  in  a  row,  on  the  sand-hills  outside.  That  is 
simple  enough ;  but,  like  a  great  many  simple  and 
excellent  things,  impossible." 

"  You  fear  the  people  ?  " 


The  Dying  World  27 

"  Well,  my  dear  lady,  and  has  not  the  villanous 
demagogue  got  the  whole  mob  on  his  side  ?  Am  I 
to  have  the  Constantinople  riots  re-enacted  here? 
I  really  cannot  face  it;  I  have  not  nerve  for  it; 
perhaps  I  am  too  lazy.  Be  it  so." 

Hypatia  sighed.  "  Ah,  that  your  excellency  but 
saw  the  great  duel  which  depends  on  you  alone  1 
Do  not  fancy  that  the  battle  is  merely  between 
Paganism  and  Christianity " 

"  Why,  if  it  were,  you  know,  I,  as  a  Christian, 
under  a  Christian  and  sainted  emperor,  not  to  men- 
tion his  august  sister " 

"We  understand,"  interrupted  she,  with  an  im- 
patient wave  of  her  beautiful  hand.  "Not  even 
between  them ;  not  even  between  philosophy  and 
barbarianism.  The  struggle  is  simply  one  between 
the  aristocracy  and  the  mob,  —  between  wealth, 
refinement,  art,  learning,  all  that  makes  a  nation 
great,  and  the  savage  herd  of  child-breeders  below, 
the  many  ignoble,  who  were  meant  to  labor  for 
the  noble  few.  Shall  the  Roman  empire  command 
or  obey  her  own  slaves  ?  is  the  question  which  you 
and  Cyril  have  to  battle  out;  and  the  fight  must 
be  internecine." 

"  I  should  not  wonder  if  it  became  so,  really," 
answered  the  prefect,  with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders. 
"  I  expect  every  time  I  ride,  to  have  my  brains 
knocked  out  by  some  mad  monk." 

"Why  not?  In  an  age  when,  as  has  been  well 
and  often  said,  emperors  and  consulars  crawl  to  the 
tombs  of  a  tent-maker  and  a  fisherman,  and  kiss 
the  mouldy  bones  of  the  vilest  slaves  ?  Why  not, 
among  a  people  whose  God  is  the  crucified  son  of 
a  carpenter  ?  Why  should  learning,  authority,  antiq- 
uity, birth,  rank,  the  system  of  empire  which  has 


28  Hypatia 

been  growing  up,  fed  by  the  accumulated  wisdom 
of  ages,  —  why,  I  say,  should  any  of  these  things 
protect  your  life  a  moment  from  the  fury  of  any 
beggar  who  believes  that  the  Son  of  God  died  for 
him  as  much  as  for  you,  and  that  he  is  your  equal, 
if  not  your  superior  in  the  sight  of  his  low-born  and 
illiterate  deity !  "  l 

"  My  most  eloquent  philosopher,  this  may  be  — 
and  perhaps  is  —  all  very  true.  I  quite  agree  that 
there  are  very  great  practical  inconveniences  of  this 
kind  in  the  new  —  I  mean  the  Catholic  faith ;  but 
the  world  is  full  of  inconveniences.  The  wise  man 
does  not  quarrel  with  his  creed  for  being  disagree- 
able, any  more  than  he  does  with  his  finger  for 
aching:  he  cannot  help  it,  and  must  make  the 
best  of  a  bad  matter.  Only  tell  me  how  to  keep 
the  peace." 

"  And  let  philosophy  be  destroyed  ?  " 

"  That  it  never  will  be,  as  long  as  Hypatia  lives 
to  illuminate  the  earth;  and,  as  far  as  I  am  con- 
cerned, I  promise  you  a  clear  stage  and  —  a  great 
deal  of  favor;  as  is  proved  by  my  visiting  you 
publicly  at  this  moment,  before  I  have  given 
audience  to  one  of  the  four  hundred  bores,  great 
and  small,  who  are  waiting  in  the  tribunal  to  tor- 
ment me.  Do  help  me  and  advise  me.  What  am 
I  to  do?" 

"  I  have  told  you." 

"  Ah,  yes,  as  to  general  principles.  But  out  of 
the  lecture-room  I  prefer  a  practical  expedient: 
for  instance,  Cyril  writes  to  me  here  —  plague  on 
him !  he  would  not  let  me  even  have  a  week's 

1  These  are  the  arguments  and  the  language  which  were  com- 
monly employed  by  Porphyry,  Julian,  and  the  other  opponents  of 
Christianity. 


The  Dying  World  29 

hunting  in  peace  —  that  there  is  a  plot  on  the  part 
of  the  Jews  to  murder  all  the  Christians.  Here  is 
the  precious  document  —  do  look  at  it,  in  pity. 
For  aught  I  know  or  care,  the  plot  may  be  an 
exactly  opposite  one,  and  the  Christians  intend  to 
murder  all  the  Jews.  But  I  must  take  some  notice 
of  the  letter." 

"  I  do  not  see  that,  your  excellency." 

"  Why,  if  anything  did  happen,  after  all,  con- 
ceive the  missives  which  would  be  sent  flying  off  to 
Constantinople  against  me !  " 

"  Let  them  go.  If  you  are  secure  in  the  con- 
sciousness of  innocence,  what  matter?" 

"  Consciousness  of  innocence  ?  I  shall  lose  my 
prefecture ! " 

**  Your  danger  would  be  just  as  great  if  you 
took  notice  of  it.  Whatever  happened,  you  would 
be  accused  of  favoring  the  Jews." 

"  And  really  there  might  be  some  truth  in  the 
accusation.  How  the  finances  of  the  provinces 
would  go  on  without  their  kind  assistance,  I  dare 
not  think.  If  those  Christians  would  but  lend  me 
their  money,  instead  of  building  almshouses  and 
hospitals  with  it,  they  might  burn  the  Jews'  quarter 
to-morrow,  for  aught  I  care.  But  now  .  .  ." 

"  But  now,  you  must  absolutely  take  no  notice 
of  this  letter.  The  very  tone  of  it  forbids  you,  for 
your  own  honor,  and  the  honor  of  the  empire. 
Are  you  to  treat  with  a  man  who  talks  of  the 
masses  at  Alexandria  as  '  the  flock  whom  the  King 
of  kings  has  committed  to  his  rule  and  care'? 
Does  your  excellency,  or  this  proud  bishop, 
govern  Alexandria?" 

"  Really,  my  dear  lady,  I  have  given  up  in- 
quiring." 


30  Hypatia 

"  But  he  has  not.  He  comes  to  you  as  a  per- 
son possessing  an  absolute  authority  over  two- 
thirds  of  the  population,  which  he  does  not  scruple 
to  hint  to  you  is  derived  from  a  higher  source  than 
your  own.  The  consequence  is  clear.  If  it  be 
from  a  higher  source  than  yours,  of  course  it  ought 
to  control  yours ;  and  you  will  confess  that  it  ought 
to  control  it  —  you  will  acknowledge  the  root  and 
ground  of  every  extravagant  claim  which  he  makes, 
if  you  deign  to  reply." 

"  But  I  must  say  something,  or  I  shall  be  pelted 
in  the  streets.  You  philosophers,  however  raised 
above  your  own  bodies  you  may  be,  must  really 
not  forget  that  we  poor  worldlings  have  bones  to 
be  broken." 

"  Then  tell  him,  and  by  word  of  mouth  merely, 
that  as  the  information  which  he  sends  you  comes 
from  his  private  knowledge,  and  concerns  not  him 
as  bishop,  but  you  as  magistrate,  you  can  only 
take  it  into  consideration  when  he  addresses  you 
as  a  private  person,  laying  a  regular  information  at 
your  tribunal." 

"  Charming !  queen  of  diplomatists  as  well  as 
philosophers  !  I  go  to  obey  you.  Ah !  why  were 
you  not  Pulcheria?  No,  for  then  Alexandria  had 
been  dark,  and  Orestes  missed  the  supreme  happi- 
ness of  kissing  a  hand  which  Pallas,  when  she 
made  you,  must  have  borrowed  from  the  workshop 
of  Aphrodite." 

"  Recollect  that  you  are  a  Christian,"  answered 
Hypatia,  half  smiling. 

So  the  prefect  departed;  and  passing  through 
the  outer  hall,  which  was  already  crowded  with 
Hypatia's  aristocratic  pupils  and  visitors,  bowed 
his  way  out  past  them,  and  regained  his  chariot, 


The  Dying  World  31 

chuckling  over  the  rebuff  which  he  intended  to 
administer  to  Cyril,  and  comforting  himself  with 
the  only  text  of  Scripture  of  the  inspiration  of 
which  he  was  thoroughly  convinced  —  "  Sufficient 
for  the  day  is  the  evil  thereof." 

At  the  door  was  a  crowd  of  chariots,  slaves  with 
their  masters'  parasols,  and  the  rabble  of  on- 
looking  boys  and  market-folk,  as  usual  in  Alex- 
andria then,-  as  in  all  great  cities  since,  who  were 
staring  at  the  prefect,  and  having  their  heads 
rapped  by  his  guards,  and  wondering  what  sort  of 
glorious  personage  Hypatia  might  be,  and  what 
sort  of  glorious  house  she  must  live  in,  to  be  fit 
company  for  the  great  governor  of  Alexandria. 
Not  that  there  was  not  many  a  sulky  and  lowering 
face  among  the  mob,  for  the  great  majority  of 
them  were  Christians,  and  very  seditious  and  tur- 
bulent politicians,  as  Alexandrians,  "  men  of  Mace- 
donia," were  bound  to  be ;  and  there  was  many  a 
grumble  among  them,  all  but  audible,  at  the  pre- 
fect's going  in  state  to  the  heathen  woman's  house 
—  heathen  sorceress,  some  pious  old  woman  called 
her  —  before  he  heard  any  poor  soul's  petition  in 
the  tribunal,  or  even  said  his  prayers  in  church. 

Just  as  he  was  stepping  into  his  curricle,  a  tall 
young  man,  as  gorgeously  bedizened  as  himself, 
lounged  down  the  steps  after  him,  and  beckoned 
lazily  to  the  black  boy  who  carried  his  parasol. 

"  Ah,  Raphael  Aben-Ezra  !  my  excellent  friend, 
what  propitious  deity — ahem!  martyr  —  brings 
you  to  Alexandria  just  as  I  want  you !  Get  up 
by  my  side,  and  let  us  have  a  chat  on  our  way 
to  the  tribunal." 

The  man  addressed  came  slowly  forward  with 
an  ostentatiously  low  salutation,  which  could  not 


3  2  Hypatia 

hide,  and  indeed  was  not  intended  to  hide,  the 
contemptuous  and  lazy  expression  of  his  face; 
and  asked  in  a  drawling  tone : 

"  And  for  what  kind  purpose  does  the  repre- 
sentative of  the  Caesars  bestow  such  an  honor 
on  the  humblest  of  his,  etc.  etc.  —  your  pene- 
tration will  supply  the  rest." 

"  Don't  be  frightened ;  I  am  not  going  to 
borrow  money  of  you,"  answered  Orestes,  laugh- 
ingly, as  the  Jew  got  into  the  curricle. 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  it.  Really  one  usurer  in  a 
family  is  enough.  My  father  made  the  gold,  and  if 
I  spend  it,  I  consider  that  I  do  all  that  is  required 
of  a  philosopher." 

"  A  charming  team  of  white  Nisaeans,  is  not 
this?  And  only  one  gray  foot  among  all  the 
four." 

"Yes  .  .  .  horses  are  a  bore,  I  begin  to  find, 
like  everything  else.  Always  falling  sick,  or  run- 
ning away,  or  breaking  one's  peace  of  mind  in 
some  way  or  other.  Besides,  I  have  been  pestered 
out  of  my  life  there  in  Cyrene,  by  commissions  for 
dogs  and  horses  and  bows  from  that  old  Episcopal 
Nimrod,  Synesius." 

"  What,  is  the  worthy  man  as  lively  as  ever?  " 

"  Lively?  He  nearly  drove  me  into  a  nervous 
fever  in  three  days.  Up  at  four  in  the  morning, 
always  in  the  most  disgustingly  good  health  and 
spirits,  farming,  coursing,  shooting,  riding  over 
hedge  and  ditch  after  rascally  black  robbers; 
preaching,  intriguing,  borrowing  money;  bap- 
tizing and  excommunicating ;  bullying  that  bully, 
Andronicus;  comforting  old  women,  and  giving 
pretty  girls  dowries ;  scribbling  one  half-hour  on 
philosophy,  and  the  next  on  farriery;  sitting  up 


The  Dying  World  33 

all  night  writing  hymns  and  drinking  strong 
liquors;  off  again  on  horseback  at  four  the  next 
morning;  and  talking  by  the  hour  all  the  while 
about  philosophic  abstraction  from  the  mundane 
tempest.  Heaven  defend  me  from  all  two-legged 
whirlwinds !  By  the  by,  there  was  a  fair  daughter 
of  my  nation  came  back  to  Alexandria  in  the 
same  ship  with  me,  with  a  cargo  that  may  suit 
your  highness." 

"  There  are  a  great  many  fair  daughters  of  your 
nation  who  might  suit  me,  without  any  cargo  at 
all." 

"  Ah,  they  have  had  good  practice,  the  little 
fools,  ever  since  the  days  of  Jeroboam  the  son 
of  Nebat.  But  I  mean  old  Miriam  —  you  know. 
She  has  been  lending  Synesius  money  to  fight 
the  black  fellows  with;  and  really  it  was  high 
time.  They  had  burnt  every  homestead  for  miles 
through  the  province.  But  the  daring  old  girl 
must  do  a  little  business  for  herself;  so  she  went 
off,  in  the  teeth  of  the  barbarians,  right  away 
to  the  Atlas,  bought  all  their  lady  prisoners,  and 
some  of  their  own  sons  and  daughters,  too,  of  them, 
for  beads  and  old  iron ;  and  has  come  back  with 
as  pretty  a  cargo  of  Lybian  beauties  as  a  prefect 
of  good  taste  could  wish  to  have  the  first  choice  of. 
You  may  thank  me  for  that  privilege." 

"  After,  of  course,  you  had  suited  yourself,  my 
cunning  Raphael  ?  " 

"  Not  I.  Women  are  bores,  as  Solomon  found 
out  long  ago.  Did  I  never  tell  you  ?  I  began,  as 
he  did,  with  the  most  select  harem  in  Alexandria. 
But  they  quarrelled  so,  that  one  day  I  went  out, 
and  sold  them  all  but  one,  who  was  a  Jewess  —  so 
there  were  objections  on  the  part  of  the  Rabbis. 


34  Hypatia 

Then  I  tried  one,  as  Solomon  did ;  but  my '  garden 
shut  up/  and  my  '  sealed  fountain  '  wanted  me  to 
be  always  in  love  with  her,  so  I  went  to  the  law- 
yers, allowed  her  a  comfortable  maintenance,  and 
now  I  am  as  free  as  a  monk,  and  shall  be  happy 
to  give  your  excellency  the  benefit  of  any  good 
taste  or  experience  which  I  may  possess." 

"  Thanks,  worthy  Jew.  We  are  not  yet  as  ex- 
alted as  yourself,  and  will  send  for  the  old  Erictho 
this  very  afternoon.  Now  listen  a  moment  to  base, 
earthly,  and  political  business.  Cyril  has  written 
to  me,  to  say  that  you  Jews  have  plotted  to  murder 
all  the  Christians." 

"  Well  —  why  not  ?  I  most  heartily  wish  it  were 
true,  and  think,  on  the  whole,  that  it  very  pro- 
bably is  so." 

"By  the  immortal  —  saints,  man!  you  are  not 
serious?" 

"  The  four  archangels  forbid  !  It  is  no  concern 
of  mine.  All  I  say  is,  that  my  people  are  great 
fools,  like  the  rest  of  the  world;  and  have,  for 
aught  I  know  or  care,  some  such  intention.  They 
won't  succeed,  of  course ;  and  that  is  all  you  have 
to  care  for.  But  if  you  think  it  worth  the  trouble 
—  which  I  do  not — I  shall  have  to  go  to  the 
synagogue  on  business  in  a  week  or  so,  and  then 
I  would  ask  some  of  the  Rabbis." 

"  Laziest  of  men !  —  and  I  must  answer  Cyril 
this  very  day." 

"  An  additional  reason  for  asking  no  questions 
of  our  people.  Now  you  can  honestly  say  that 
you  know  nothing  about  the  matter." 

"  Well,  after  all,  ignorance  is  a  stronghold  for 
poor  statesmen.  So  you  need  not  hurry  your- 
self." 


The  Dying  World  35 

"  I  assure  your  excellency  I  will  not." 

"  Ten  days  hence,  or  so,  you  know." 

"  Exactly,  after  it  is  all  over." 

"And  can't  be  helped.  What  a  comfort  it  is, 
now  and  then,  that  Can't  be  helped  !  " 

"It  is  the  root  and  marrow  of  all  philosophy. 
Your  practical  man,  poor  wretch,  will  try  to  help 
this  and  that,  and  torment  his  soul  with  ways  and 
means,  and  preventives  and  forestallings :  your 
philosopher  quietly  says  —  It  can't  be  helped.  If 
it  ought  to  be,  it  will  be :  if  it  is,  it  ought  to  be. 
We  did  not  make  the  world,  and  we  are  not  respon- 
sible for  it.  —  There  is  the  sum  and  substance  of 
all  true  wisdom,  and  the  epitome  of  all  that  has 
been  said  and  written  thereon  from  Philo  the  Jew 
to  Hypatia  the  Gentile.  By  the  way,  here 's  Cyril 
coming  down  the  steps  of  the  Caesareum.  A  very 
handsome  fellow,  after  all,  though  he  is  looking 
as  sulky  as  a  bear." 

"  With  his  cubs  at  his  heels.  What  a  scoundrelly 
visage  that  tall  fellow  —  deacon,  or  reader,  or 
whatever  he  is  by  his  dress  —  has !  " 

"  There  they  are  —  whispering  together.  Heaven 
give  them  pleasant  thoughts  and  pleasanter  faces  !  " 

"  Amen  !  "  quoth  Orestes,  with  a  sneer :  and  he 
would  have  said  Amen  in  good  earnest,  had  he  been 
able  to  take  the  liberty  —  which  we  shall  —  and 
listen  to  Cyril's  answer  to  Peter,  the  tall  reader. 

"  From  Hypatia's,  you  say?  Why,  he  only  re- 
turned to  the  city  this  morning." 

"  I  saw  his  four-in-hand  standing  at  her  door,  as 
I  came  down  the  Museum  Street  hither,  half-an- 
hour  ago." 

"  And  twenty  carriages  besides,  I  don't  doubt?  " 

"  The  street  was  blocked  up  with  them.    There  i 


36  Hypatia 

Look  round  the  corner  now.  —  Chariots,  litters, 
slaves,  and  fops.  —  When  shall  we  see  such  a  con- 
course as  that  where  it  ought  to  be  ?  " 

Cyril  made  no  answer;  and  Peter  went  on: 
"  Where  it  ought  to  be,  my  father  —  in  front  of 
your  door  at  the  Serapeium  ?  " 

"  The  world,  the  flesh,  and  the  devil  know  their 
own,  Peter :  and  as  long  as  they  have  their  own  to 
go  to,  we  cannot  expect  them  to  come  to  us." 

"  But  what  if  their  own  were  taken  out  of  the 
way?" 

"  They  might  come  to  us  for  want  of  better 
amusement  .  .  .  devil  and  all.  Well  —  if  I  could 
get  a  fair  hold  of  the  two  first,  I  would  take  the 
third  into  the  bargain,  and  see  what  could  be  done 
with  him.  But  never,  while  these  lecture-rooms 
last  —  these  Egyptian  chambers  of  imagery  — 
these  theatres  of  Satan,  where  the  devil  transforms 
himself  into  an  angel  of  light,  and  apes  Christian 
virtue,  and  bedizens  his  ministers  like  ministers  of 
righteousness,  as  long  as  that  lecture-room  stands, 
and  the  great  and  the  powerful  flock  to  it,  to  learn 
excuses  for  their  own  tyrannies  and  atheisms,  so 
long  will  the  kingdom  of  God  be  trampled  under 
foot  in  Alexandria;  so  long  will  the  princes  of 
this  world,  with  their  gladiators,  and  parasites, 
and  money-lenders,  be  masters  here,  and  not  the 
bishops  and  priests  of  the  living  God." 

It  was  now  Peter's  turn  to  be  silent ;  and  as  the 
two,  with  their  little  knot  of  district-visitors  behind 
them,  walk  moodily  along  the  great  esplanade  which 
overlooked  the  harbor,  and  then  vanish  suddenly 
up  some  dingy  alley  into  the  crowded  misery  of 
the  sailors'  quarter,  we  will  leave  them  to  go  about 
their  errand  of  mercy,  and,  like  fashionable  people, 


The  Dying  World  37 

keep  to  the  grand  parade,  and  listen  again  to  our 
two  fashionable  friends  in  the  carved  and  gilded 
curricle  with  four  white  blood-horses. 

"A  fine  sparkling  breeze  outside  the  Pharos, 
Raphael  —  fair  for  the  wheat-ships  too." 

"Are  they  gone  yet?" 

« Yes  —  why?  I  sent  the  first  fleet  off  three 
days  ago ;  and  the  rest  are  clearing  outwards 
to-day." 

"  Oh  —  ah  —  so  !  —  Then  you  have  not  heard 
from  Heraclian  ?  " 

"  Heraclian  ?  What  the  —  blessed  saints  has  the 
Count  of  Africa  to  do  with  my  wheat-ships  ?  " 

"  Oh,  nothing.  It 's  no  business  of  mine.  Only 
he  is  going  to  rebel.  .  .  .  But  here  we  are  at  your 
door." 

"  To  what?  "  asked  Orestes,  in  a  horrified  tone. 

"  To  rebel,  and  attack  Rome." 

"  Good  gods  —  God  I  mean.  A  fresh  bore ! 
Come  in,  and  tell  a  poor  miserable  slave  of 
a  governor  —  speak  low,  for  heaven's  sake  !  —  I 
hope  these  rascally  grooms  have  n't  overheard 
you." 

"  Easy  to  throw  them  into  the  canal,  if  they 
have,"  quoth  Raphael,  as  he  walked  coolly  through 
hall  and  corridor  after  the  perturbed  governor. 

Poor  Orestes  never  stopped  till  he  reached  a 
little  chamber  of  the  inner  court,  beckoned  the  Jew 
in  after  him,  locked  the  door,  threw  himself  into  an 
arm-chair,  put  his  hands  on  his  knees,  and  sat, 
bending  forward,  staring  into  Raphael's  face  with  a 
ludicrous  terror  and  perplexity. 

"  Tell  me  all  about  it.     Tell  me  this  instant." 

"I  have  told  you  all  I  know,"  quoth  Raphael, 
quietly  seating  himself  on  a  sofa,  and  playing  with 


38  Hypatia 

a  jewelled  dagger.  "  I  thought,  of  course,  that  you 
were  in  the  secret,  or  I  should  have  said  nothing. 
It 's  no  business  of  mine,  you  know." 

Orestes,  like  most  weak  and  luxurious  men, 
Romans  especially,  had  a  wild-beast  vein  in  him  — 
and  it  burst  forth. 

"  Hell  and  the  furies !  You  insolent  provincial 
slave  —  you  will  carry  these  liberties  of  yours  too 
far !  Do  you  know  who  I  am,  you  accursed  Jew? 
Tell  me  the  whole  truth,  or,  by  the  head  of  the 
emperor,  I  '11  twist  it  out  of  you  with  red-hot 
pincers !  " 

Raphael's  countenance  assumed  a  dogged  ex- 
pression, which  showed  that  the  old  Jewish  blood 
still  beat  true,  under  all  its  affected  shell  of  Neo- 
Platonist  nonchalance ;  and  there  was  a  quiet  un- 
pleasant earnest  in  his  smile,  as  he  answered : 

"  Then,  my  dear  governor,  you  will  be  the  first 
man  on  earth  who  ever  yet  forced  a  Jew  to  say  or 
do  what  he  did  not  choose." 

"  We  '11  see  !  "  yelled  Orestes.  "  Here,  slaves !  " 
And  he  clapped  his  hands  loudly. 

"Calm  yourself,  your  excellency,"  quoth  Ra- 
phael, rising.  "  The  door  is  locked ;  the  mosquito 
net  is  across  the  window;  and  this  dagger  is 
poisoned.  If  anything  happens  to  me,  you  will 
offend  all  the  Jew  money-lenders,  and  die  in  about 
three  days  in  a  great  deal  of  pain,  having  missed 
our  assignation  with  old  Miriam,  lost  your  pleasant- 
est  companion,  and  left  your  own  finances  and 
those  of  the  prefecture  in  a  considerable  state  of 
embarrassment.  How  much  better  to  sit  down, 
hear  all  I  have  to  say  philosophically,  like  a  true 
pupil  of  Hypatia,  and  not  expect  a  man  to  tell  you 
what  he  really  does  not  know." 


The  Dying  World  39 

Orestes,  after  looking  vainly  round  the  room 
for  a  place  to  escape,  had  quietly  subsided  into 
his  chair  again ;  and  by  the  time  that  the  slaves 
knocked  at  the  door,  he  had  so  far  recovered  his 
philosophy  as  to  ask,  not  for  the  torturers,  but 
for  a  page  and  wine. 

"  Oh,  you  Jews !  "  quoth  he,  trying  to  laugh  off 
matters.  "  The  same  incarnate  fiends  that  Titus 
found  you ! " 

"  The  very  same,  my  dear  prefect.  Now  for 
this  matter,  which  is  really  important  —  at  least 
to  Gentiles.  Heraclian  will  certainly  rebel.  Syne- 
sius  let  out  as  much  to  me.  He  has  fitted 
out  an  armament  for  Ostia,  stopped  his  own 
wheat-ships,  and  is  going  to  write  to  you  to  stop 
yours,  and  to  starve  out  the  Eternal  City,  Goths, 
senate,  emperor,  and  all.  Whether  you  will 
comply  with  his  reasonable  little  request  depends 
of  course  on  yourself." 

"  And  that  again  very  much  on  his  plans." 

"  Of  course.  You  cannot  be  expected  to  —  we 
will  euphemize  —  unless  it  be  made  worth  your 
while." 

Orestes  sat  buried  in  deep  thought. 

"  Of  course  not,"  said  he  at  last,  half  uncon- 
sciously. And  then,  in  sudden  dread  of  having 
committed  himself,  he  looked  up  fiercely  at  the 
Jew. 

"  And  how  do  I  know  that  this  is  not  some 
infernal  trap  of  yours?  Tell  me  how  you  found 
out  all  this,  or  by  Hercules  [he  had  quite  forgotten 
his  Christianity  by  this  time]  —  by  Hercules  and 
the  twelve  gods,  I  '11 " 

"Don't  use  expressions  unworthy  of  a  philoso- 
pher. My  source  of  information  was  very  simple 


40  Hypatia 

and  very  good.  He  has  been  negotiating  a  loan 
from  the  Rabbis  at  Carthage.  They  were  either 
frightened,  or  loyal,  or  both,  and  hung  back.  He 
knew  —  as  all  wise  governors  know  when  they  allow 
themselves  time  —  that  it  is  no  use  to  bully  a  Jew ; 
and  applied  to  me.  I  never  lend  money  —  it  is 
unphilosophical :  but  I  introduced  him  to  old 
Miriam,  who  dare  do  business  with  the  devil 
himself;  and  by  that  move,  whether  he  has  the 
money  or  not,  I  cannot  tell :  but  this  I  can  tell, 
that  we  have  his  secret  —  and  so  have  you  now ; 
and  if  you  want  more  information,  the  old  woman, 
who  enjoys  an  intrigue  as  much  as  she  does 
Falernian,  will  get  it  you." 

"  Well,  you  are  a  true  friend,  after  all." 

"  Of  course  I  am.  Now,  is  not  this  method  of 
getting  at  the  truth  much  easier  and  pleasanter 
than  setting  a  couple  of  dirty  negroes  to  pinch 
and  pull  me,  and  so  making  it  a  point  of  honor 
with  me  to  tell  you  nothing  but  lies  ?  Here  comes 
Ganymede  with  the  wine,  just  in  time  to  calm 
your  nerves,  and  fill  you  with  the  spirit  of  divina- 
tion. ...  To  the  goddess  of  good  counsels,  my 
lord?  What  wine  this  is  !  " 

"  True  Syrian  —  fire  and  honey ;  fourteen  years 
old  next  vintage,  my  Raphael.  Out,  Hypocorisma ! 
See  that  he  is  not  listening.  The  impudent 
rascal !  I  was  humbugged  into  giving  two  thou- 
sand gold  pieces  for  him  two  years  ago,  he  was 
so  pretty  —  they  said  he  was  only  just  rising 
thirteen  —  and  he  has  been  the  plague  of  my  life 
ever  since,  and  is  beginning  to  want  the  barber 
already.  Now,  what  is  the  count  dreaming  of  !  " 

"  His  wages  for  killing  Stilicho." 

"  What,  is  it  not  enough  to  be  Count  of  Africa?  " 


The  Dying  World  41 

"  I  suppose  he  sets  off  against  that  his  services 
during  the  last  three  years." 

"  Well,  he  saved  Africa." 

"And  thereby  Egypt  also.  And  you  too,  as 
well  as  the  emperor,  may  be  considered  as  owing 
him  somewhat." 

"My  good  friend,  my  debts  are  far  too  numer- 
ous for  me  to  think  of  paying  any  of  them.  But 
what  wages  does  he  want  ?  " 

"The  purple." 

Orestes  started,  and  then  fell  into  thought. 
Raphael  sat  watching  him  a  while. 

"Now,  most  noble  lord,  may  I  depart?  I  have 
said  all  I  have  to  say ;  and  unless  I  get  home  to 
luncheon  at  once,  I  shall  hardly  have  time  to  find 
old  Miriam  for  you,  and  get  through  our  little 
affair  with  her  before  sunset." 

"  Stay.     What  force  has  he  ?  " 

"  Forty  thousand  already,  they  say.  And  those 
Donatist  ruffians  are  with  him  to  a  man,  if  he  can 
but  scrape  together  wherewith  to  change  their 
bludgeons  into  good  steel."  * 

"  Well,  go.  .  .  .  So.  A  hundred  thousand  might 
do  it,"  said  he,  meditating,  as  Raphael  bowed  him- 
self out.  "  He  won't  get  them.  I  don't  know, 
though ;  the  man  has  the  head  of  a  Julius.  Well 
—  that  fool  Attalus  talked  of  joining  Egypt  to  the 
Western  Empire.  .  .  .  Not  such  a  bad  thought 
either.  Anything  is  better  than  being  governed  by 
an  idiot  child  and  three  canting  nuns.  I  expect  to 
be  excommunicated  every  day  for  some  offence 
against  Pulcheria's  prudery.  .  .  .  Heraclian  empe- 
ror at  Rome  .  .  .  and  I  lord  and  master  on  this 
side  the  sea  ...  the  Donatists  pitted  again  fairly 
against  the  orthodox,  to  cut  each  other's  throats 


42  Hypatia 

in  peace  ...  no  more  of  Cyril's  spying  and  tale- 
bearing to  Constantinople.  .  .  .  Not  such  a  bad 
dish  of  fare.  .  .  .  But  then  —  it  would  take  so 
much  trouble !  " 

With  which  words,  Orestes  went  into  his  third 
warm  bath  for  that  day. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  GOTHS 

FOR  two  days  the  young  monk  held  on,  pad- 
dling and  floating  rapidly  down  the  Nile- 
stream,  leaving  city  after  city  to  right  and  left  with 
longing  eyes,  and  looking  back  to  one  villa  after 
another,  till  the  reaches  of  the  banks  hid  them 
from  his  sight,  with  many  a  yearning  to  know 
what  sort  of  places  those  gay  buildings  and  gar- 
dens would  look  like  on  a  nearer  view,  and  what 
sort  of  life  the  thousands  led  who  crowded  the 
busy  quays,  and  walked  and  drove,  in  an  endless 
stream,  along  the  great  highroads  which  ran  along 
either  bank.  He  carefully  avoided  every  boat  that 
passed  him,  from  the  gilded  barge  of  the  wealthy 
landlord  or  merchant,  to  the  tiny  raft  buoyed  up 
with  empty  jars,  which  was  floating  down  to  be 
sold  at  some  market  in  the  Delta.  Here  and 
there  he  met  and  hailed  a  crew  of  monks,  drawing 
their  nets  in  a  quiet  bay,  or  passing  along  the 
great  watery  highway  from  monastery  to  monas- 
tery :  but  all  the  news  he  received  from  them  was, 
that  the  canal  of  Alexandria  was  still  several  days' 
journey  below  him.  It  seemed  endless,  that 
monotonous  vista  of  the  two  high  clay  banks,  with 
their  sluices  and  water-wheels,  their  knots  of  palms 
and  date-trees;  endless  seemed  that  wearisome 
succession  of  bars  of  sand  and  banks  of  mud,  every 
one  like  the  one  before  it,  every  one  dotted  with 


44  Hypatia 

the  same  line  of  logs  and  stones  strewn  along  the 
water's  edge,  which  turned  out  as  he  approached 
them,  to  be  basking  crocodiles  and  sleeping  peli- 
cans. His  eye,  wearied  with  the  continual  confine- 
ment and  want  of  distance,  longed  for  the  boundless 
expanse  of  the  desert,  for  the  jagged  outlines  of 
those  far-off  hills,  which  he  had  watched  from  boy- 
hood rising  mysteriously  at  morn  out  of  the  eastern 
sky,  and  melting  mysteriously  into  it  again  at 
even,  beyond  which  dwelt  a  whole  world  of  won- 
ders, elephants  and  dragons,  satyrs  and  anthro- 
pophagi,—  ay,  and  the  phoenix  itself.  Tired  and 
melancholy,  his  mind  returned  inward  to  prey  on 
itself,  and  the  last  words  of  Arsenius  rose  again 
and  again  to  his  thoughts.  "  Was  his  call  of  the 
spirit  or  of  the  flesh?"  How  should  he  test  that 
problem?  He  wished  to  see  the  world  .  .  .  that 
might  be  carnal.  True;  but,  he  wished  to  con- 
vert the  world  ...  was  not  that  spiritual  ?  Was  he 
not  going  on  a  noble  errand?  .  .  .  thirsting  for  toil, 
for  saintship,  for  martyrdom  itself,  if  it  would  but 
come  and  cut  the  Gordian  knot  of  all  temptations, 
and  save  him  —  for  he  dimly  felt  that  it  would  save 
him  —  a  whole  sea  of  trouble  in  getting  safe  and 
triumphant  out  of  that  world  into  which  he  had  not 
yet  entered  .  .  .  and  his  heart  shrunk  back  from 
the  untried  homeless  wilderness  before  him.  But 
no !  the  die  was  cast,  and  he  must  down  and  on- 
ward, whether  in  obedience  to  the  spirit  or  the 
flesh.  Oh,  for  one  hour  of  the  quiet  of  that  dear 
Laura  and  the  old  familiar  faces ! 

At  last,  a  sudden  turn  of  the  bank  brought  him 
in  sight  of  a  gaudily-painted  barge,  on  board  of 
which  armed  men,  in  uncouth  and  foreign  dresses, 
were  chasing  with  barbaric  shouts  some  large 


The  Goths  45 

object  in  the  water.  In  the  bows  stood  a  man  of 
gigantic  stature,  brandishing  a  harpoon  in  his  right 
hand,  and  in  his  left  holding  the  line  of  a  second, 
the  head  of  which  was  fixed  in  the  huge  purple  sides 
of  a  hippopotamus,  who  foamed  and  wallowed  a  few 
yards  down  the  stream.  An  old  grizzled  warrior 
at  the  stern,  with  a  rudder  in  either  hand,  kept  the 
boat's  head  continually  towards  the  monster,  in 
spite  of  its  sudden  and  frantic  wheelings;  and 
when  it  dashed  madly  across  the  stream,  some 
twenty  oars  flashed  through  the  water  in  pursuit. 
All  was  activity  and  excitement;  and  it  was  no 
wonder  if  Philammon's  curiosity  had  tempted  him 
to  drift  down  almost  abreast  of  the  barge,  ere  he 
descried,  peeping  from  under  a  decorated  awning 
in  the  afterpart,  some  dozen  pair  of  languishing 
black  eyes,  turned  alternately  to  the  game  and  to 
himself.  The  serpents  !  —  chattering  and  smiling, 
with  pretty  little  shrieks  and  shaking  of  glossy 
curls  and  gold  necklaces,  and  fluttering  of  muslin 
dresses,  within  a  dozen  yards  of  him !  Blushing 
scarlet,  he  knew  not  why,  he  seized  his  paddle,  and 
tried  to  back  out  of  the  snare  .  .  .  but  somehow, 
his  very  efforts  to  escape  those  sparkling  eyes 
diverted  his  attention  from  everything  else:  the 
hippopotamus  had  caught  sight  of  him,  and  furious 
with  pain,  rushed  straight  at  the  unoffending  canoe ; 
the  harpoon  line  became  entangled  round  his 
body,  and  in  a  moment  he  and  his  frail  bark  were 
overturned,  and  the  monster,  with  his  huge  white 
tusks  gaping  wide,  close  on  him,  as  he  struggled  in 
the  stream. 

Luckily  Philammon,  contrary  to  the  wont  of 
monks,  was  a  bather,  and  swam  like  a  water-fowl : 
fear  he  had  never  known:  death  from  childhood 


46  Hypatia 

had  been  to  him,  as  to  the  other  inmates  of  the 
Laura,  a  contemplation  too  perpetual  to  have  any 
paralyzing  terror  in  it,  even  then,  when  life  seemed 
just  about  to  open  on  him  anew.  But  the  monk 
was  a  man,  and  a  young  one,  and  had  no  intention 
of  dying  tamely  or  unavenged.  In  an  instant  he 
had  freed  himself  from  the  line ;  drawn  the  short 
knife  which  was  his  only  weapon ;  and  diving  sud- 
denly, avoided  the  monster's  rush,  and  attacked 
him  from  behind  with  stabs,  which,  though  not 
deep,  still  dyed  the  waters  with  gore  at  every 
stroke.  The  barbarians  shouted  with  delight. 
The  hippopotamus  turned  furiously  against  his 
new  assailant,  crushing,  alas !  the  empty  canoe  to 
fragments  with  a  single  snap  of  his  enormous  jaws ; 
but  the  turn  was  fatal  to  him ;  the  barge  was  close 
upon  him,  and  as  he  presented  his  broad  side  to 
the  blow,  the  sinewy  arm  of  the  giant  drove  a  har- 
poon through  his  heart,  and  with  one  convulsive 
shudder  the  huge  blue  mass  turned  over  on  its 
side  and  floated  dead. 

Poor  Philammon!  He  alone  was  silent,  amid 
the  yells  of  triumph ;  sorrowfully  he  swam  round 
and  round  his  little  paper  wreck  ...  it  would  not 
have  floated  a  mouse.  Wistfully  he  eyed  the  dis- 
tant banks,  half  minded  to  strike  out  for  them,  and 
escape,  .  .  .  and  thought  of  the  crocodiles,  .  .  .  and 
paddled  round  again,  .  .  .  and  thought  of  the  basi- 
lisk eyes ;  ...  he  might  escape  the  crocodiles,  but 
who  could  escape  women  ?  .  .  .  and  he  struck  out 
valiantly  for  shore  .  .  .  when  he  was  brought  to  a 
sudden  stop  by  finding  the  stem  of  the  barge  close 
on  him,  a  noose  thrown  over  him  by  some  friendly 
barbarian,  and  himself  hauled  on  board,  amid  the 
laughter,  praise,  astonishment,  and  grumbling  of 


The  Goths  47 

the  good-natured  crew,  who  had  expected  him,  as  a 
matter  of  course,  to  avail  himself  at  once  of  their 
help,  and  could  not  conceive  the  cause  of  his 
reluctance. 

Philammon  gazed  with  wonder  on  his  strange 
hosts,  their  pale  complexions,  globular  heads  and 
faces,  high  cheek-bones,  tall  and  sturdy  figures; 
their  red  beards,  and  yellow  hair  knotted  fantas- 
tically above  the  head;  their  awkward  dresses, 
half  Roman  or  Egyptian,  and  half  of  foreign  fur, 
soiled  and  stained  in  many  a  storm  and  fight,  but 
tastelessly  bedizened  with  classic  jewels,  brooches 
and  Roman  coins,  strung  like  necklaces.  Only  the 
steersman,  who  had  come  forward  to  wonder  at  the 
hippopotamus,  and  to  help  in  dragging  the  un- 
wieldy brute  on  board,  seemed  to  keep  genuine 
and  unornamented  the  costume  of  his  race,  the 
white  linen  leggings,  strapped  with  thongs  of  deer- 
skin, the  quilted  leather  cuirass,  the  bear's-fur 
cloak,  the  only  ornaments  of  which  were  the  fangs 
and  claws  of  the  beast  itself,  and  a  fringe  of  griz- 
zled tufts,  which  looked  but  too  like  human  hair. 
The  language  which  they  spoke  was  utterly  unin- 
telligible to  Philammon,  though  it  need  not  be  so 
to  us. 

"  A  well-grown  lad  and  a  brave  one,  Wulf  the 
son  of  Ovida,"  said  the  giant  to  the  old  hero  of  the 
bearskin  cloak;  "and  understands  wearing  skins, 
in  this  furnace-mouth  of  a  climate,  rather  better 
than  you  do." 

"  I  keep  to  the  dress  of  my  forefathers,  Amalric 
the  Amal.  What  did  to  sack  Rome  in,  may  do  to 
find  Asgard  in." 

The  giant,  who  was  decked  out  with  helmet, 
cuirass,  and  senatorial  boots,  in  a  sort  of  mongrel 


48  Hypatia 

mixture  of  the  Roman  military  and  civil  dress,  his 
neck  wreathed  with  a  dozen  gold  chains,  and 
every  finger  sparkling  with  jewels,  turned  away 
with  an  impatient  sneer. 

"  Asgard  —  Asgard  !  If  you  are  in  such  a  hurry 
to  get  to  Asgard  up  this  ditch  in  the  sand,  you  had 
better  ask  the  fellow  how  far  it  is  thither." 

Wulf  took  him  quietly  at  his  word,  and  addressed 
a  question  to  the  young  monk,  which  he  could 
only  answer  by  a  shake  of  the  head. 

"  Ask  him  in  Greek,  man." 

"  Greek  is  a  slave's  tongue.  Make  a  slave  talk 
to  him  in  it,  not  me." 

"  Here  —  some  of  you  girls  !  Pelagia  !  you 
understand  this  fellow's  talk.  Ask  him  how  far  it 
is  to  Asgard." 

"  You  must  ask  me  more  civilly,  my  rough  hero," 
replied  a  soft  voice  from  underneath  the  awning. 
"  Beauty  must  be  sued,  and  not  commanded." 

"Come,  then,  my  olive-tree,  my  gazelle,  my 
lotus-flower,  my — what  was  the  last  nonsense  you 
taught  me?  —  and  ask  this  wild  man  of  the  sands 
how  far  it  is  from  these  accursed  endless  rabbit- 
burrows  to  Asgard." 

The  awning  was  raised,  and  lying  luxuriously  on 
a  soft  mattress,  fanned  with  peacock's  feathers,  and 
glittering  with  rubies  and  topazes,  appeared  such  a 
vision  as  Philammon  had  never  seen  before. 

A  woman  of  some  two-and-twenty  summers, 
formed  in  the  most  voluptuous  mould  of  Grecian 
beauty,  whose  complexion  showed  every  violet 
vein  through  its  veil  of  luscious  brown.  Her  little 
bare  feet,  as  they  dimpled  the  cushions,  were  more 
perfect  than  Aphrodite's,  softer  than  a  swan's 
bosom.  Every  swell  of  her  bust  and  arms  showed 


The  Goths  49 

through  the  thin  gauze  robe,  while  her  lower  limbs 
were  wrapped  in  a  shawl  of  orange  silk,  embroid- 
ered with  wreaths  of  shells  and  roses.  Her  dark 
nair  lay  carefully  spread  out  upon  the  pillow,  in  a 
thousand  ringlets  entwined  with  gold  and  jewels ; 
her  languishing  eyes  blazed  like  diamonds  from  a 
cavern,  under  eyelids  darkened  and  deepened  with 
black  antimony ;  her  lips  pouted  of  themselves,  by 
habit  or  by  nature,  into  a  perpetual  kiss ;  slowly 
she  raised  one  little  lazy  hand ;  slowly  the  ripe  lips 
opened;  and  in  most  pure  and  melodious  Attic, 
she  lisped  her  huge  lover's  question  to  the  monk, 
and  repeated  it  before  the  boy  could  shake  off  the 
spell,  and  answer  .  .  . 

"  Asgard  ?     What  is  Asgard  ?  " 

The  beauty  looked  at  the  giant  for  further 
instructions. 

"  The  city  of  the  immortal  gods,"  interposed  the 
old  warrior,  hastily  and  sternly,  to  the  lady. 

"  The  city  of  God  is  in  heaven,"  said  Philammon 
to  the  interpreter,  turning  his  head  away  from 
those  gleaming,  luscious,  searching  glances. 

His  answer  was  received  with  a  general  laugh  by 
all  except  the  leader,  who  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

u  It  may  as  well  be  up  in  the  skies  as  up  the 
Nile.  We  shall  be  just  as  likely,  I  believe,  to 
reach  it  by  flying,  as  by  rowing  up  this  big  ditch. 
Ask  him  where  the  river  comes  from,  Pelagia." 

Pelagia  obeyed  .  .  .  and  thereon  followed  a  con- 
fusion worse  confounded,  composed  of  all  the  im- 
possible wonders  of  that  mythic  fairy-land  with 
which  Philammon  had  gorged  himself  from  boy- 
hood in  his  walks  with  the  old  monks,  and  of  the 
equally  trustworthy  traditions  which  the  Goths 
had  picked  up  at  Alexandria.  There  was  nothing 

D— Vol.  VI 


50  Hypatia 

which  that  river  did  not  do.  It  rose  in  the  Cau- 
casus. Where  was  the  Caucasus!  He  did  not 
know.  In  Paradise  —  in  Indian  ./Ethiopia  —  in 
^Ethiopian  India.  Where  were  they?  He  did  not 
know.  Nobody  knew.  It  ran  for  a  hundred  and 
fifty  days'  journey  through  deserts  where  nothing 
but  flying  serpents  and  satyrs  lived,  and  the  very 
lions'  manes  were  burnt  off  by  the  heat.  .  .  . 

"  Good  sporting  there,  at  all  events,  among  these 
dragons,"  quoth  Smid  the  son  of  Troll,  armorer 
to  the  party. 

"  As  good  as  Thor's  when  he  caught  Snake  Mid- 
gard  with  the  bullock's  head,"  said  Wulf. 

It  turned  to  the  East  for  a  hundred  days'  jour- 
ney more,  all  round  Arabia  and  India,  among 
forests  full  of  elephants  and  dog-headed  women. 

"Better  and  better,  Smid!"  growled  Wulf, 
approvingly. 

"Fresh  beef  cheap  there,  Prince  Wulf,  eh?" 
quoth  Smid ;  "  I  must  look  over  the  arrow-heads." 

—  To  the  mountains  of  the  Hyperboreans,  where 
there  was  eternal  night,  and  the  air  was  full  of 
feathers,  .  .  .  That  is,  one-third  of  it  came  from 
thence,  and  another  third  came  from  the  Southern 
ocean,  over  the  Moon  mountains,  where  no  one 
had  ever  been,  and  the  remaining  third  from  the 
country  where  the  phoenix  lived,  and  nobody 
knew  where  that  was.  And  then  there  were  the 
cataracts,  and  the  inundations  —  and  —  and  —  and 
above  the  cataracts,  nothing  but  sand-hills  and 
ruins,  as  full  of  devils  as  they  could  hold  .  .  .  and 
as  for  Asgard,  no  one  had  ever  heard  of  it  ...  till 
every  face  grew  longer  and  longer,  as  Pelagia  went 
on  interpreting  and  misinterpreting;  and  at  last 
the  giant  smote  his  hand  upon  his  knee,  and  swore 


The  Goths  51 

a  great  oath  that  Asgard  might  rot  till  the  twilight 
of  the  gods  before  he  went  a  step  farther  up  the 
Nile. 

"  Curse  the  monk  1 "  growled  Wulf.  "  How 
should  such  a  poor  beast  know  anything  about  the 
matter?" 

"  Why  should  not  he  know  as  well  as  that  ape  oi 
a  Roman  governor?"  asked  Smid. 

"  Oh,  the  monks  know  everything,"  said  Pelagia. 
"  They  go  hundreds  and  thousands  of  miles  up  the 
river,  and  cross  the  deserts  among  fiends  and  mon- 
sters, where  any  one  else  would  be  eaten  up,  or  go 
mad  at  once." 

"  Ah,  the  dear  holy  men !  It 's  all  by  the  sign 
of  the  blessed  cross ! "  exclaimed  all  the  girls  to- 
gether, devoutly  crossing  themselves,  while  two  or 
three  of  the  most  enthusiastic  were  half-minded  to 
go  forward  and  kneel  to  Philammon  for  his  bless- 
ing; but  hesitated,  their  Gothic  lovers  being 
heathenishly  stupid  and  prudish  on  such  points. 

"  Why  should  he  not  know  as  well  as  the  pre- 
fect? Well  said,  Smid  1  I  believe  that  prefect's 
quill-driver  was  humbugging  us  when  he  said 
Asgard  was  only  ten  days'  sail  up." 

"Why?"  asked  Wulf. 

"  I  never  give  any  reasons.  What 's  the  use  of 
being  an  Amal,  and  a  son  of  Odin,  if  one  has 
always  to  be  giving  reasons  like  a  rascally  Roman 
lawyer?  I  say  the  governor  looked  like  a  liar; 
and  I  say  this  monk  looks  like  an  honest  fellow; 
and  I  choose  to  believe  him,  and  there  is  an  end 
of  it." 

"  Don't  look  so  cross  at  me,  Prince  Wulf;  I  'm 
sure  it 's  not  my  fault ;  I  could  only  say  what  the 
monk  told  me,"  whispered  poor  Pelagia. 


52    *  Hypatia 

"Who  looks  cross  at  you,  my  queen?"  roared 
the  Amal.  "  Let  me  have  him  out  here,  and  by 
Thor's  hammer,  I '11 " 

"Who  spoke  to  you,  you  stupid  darling?"  an- 
swered Pelagia,  who  lived  in  hourly  fear  of  thunder- 
storms. "  Who  is  going  to  be  cross  with  any  one, 
except  I  with  you,  for  mishearing  and  misunder- 
standing, and  meddling,  as  you  are  always  doing? 
I  shall  do  as  I  threatened,  and  run  away  with 
Prince  Wulf,  if  you  are  not  good.  Don't  you  see 
that  the  whole  crew  are  expecting  you  to  make 
them  an  oration?" 

Whereupon  the  Amal  rose. 

"See  you  here,  Wulf  the  son  of  Ovida,  and 
warriors  all !  If  we  want  wealth,  we  sha'n't  find 
it  among  the  sand-hills.  If  we  want  women,  we 
shall  find  nothing  prettier  than  these  among 
dragons  and  devils.  Don't  look  angry,  Wulf. 
You  have  no  mind  to  marry  one  of  those  dog- 
headed  girls  the  monk  talked  of,  have  you? 
Well,  then,  we  have  money  and  women;  and  if 
we  want  sport,  it's  better  sport  killing  men  than 
killing  beasts ;  so  we  had  better  go  where  we  shall 
find  most  of  that  game,  which  we  certainly  shall 
not  up  this  road.  As  for  fame  and  all  that,  though 
I  've  had  enough,  there 's  plenty  to  be  got  any- 
where along  the  shores  of  that  Mediterranean. 
Let's  burn  and  plunder  Alexandria:  forty  of 
us  Goths  might  kill  down  all  those  donkey-riders 
in  two  days,  and  hang  up  that  lying  prefect  who 
sent  us  here  on  this  fool's  errand.  Don't  answer, 
Wulf.  I  knew  he  was  humbugging  us  all  along, 
but  you  were  so  open-mouthed  to  all  he  said,  that 
I  was  bound  to  let  my  elders  choose  for  me. 
Let 's  go  back ;  send  over  for  any  of  the  tribes  j 


The  Goths  53 

send  to  Spain  for  those  Vandals  —  they  have 
had  enough  of  Adolf  by  now,  curse  him !  — 
I  '11  warrant  them ;  get  together  an  army,  and 
take  Constantinople.  I'll  be  Augustus,  and 
Pelagia,  Augusta;  you  and  Smid  here,  the  two 
Caesars ;  and  we  '11  make  the  monk  the  chief  of 
the  eunuchs,  eh  ?  —  anything  you  like  for  a  quiet 
life;  but  up  this  accursed  kennel  of  hot  water 
I  go  no  farther.  Ask  your  girls,  my  heroes,  and 
I  '11  ask  mine.  Women  are  all  prophetesses,  every 
one  of  them." 

"  When  they  are  not  harlots,"  growled  Wulf  to 
himself. 

"  I  will  go  to  the  world's  end  with  you,  my 
king!"  sighed  Pelagia;  "but  Alexandria  is  cer- 
tainly pleasanter  than  this." 

Old  Wulf  sprang  up  fiercely  enough. 

"  Hear  me,  Amalric  the  Amal,  son  of  Odin, 
and  heroes  all !  When  my  fathers  swore  to  be 
Odin's  men,  and  gave  up  the  kingdom  to  the  Holy 
Amals,  the  sons  of  the  ^Esir,  what  was  the  bond 
between  your  fathers  and  mine?  Was  it  not 
that  we  should  move  and  move,  southward  and 
southward  ever,  till  we  came  back  to  Asgard,  the 
city  where  Odin  dwells  for  ever,  and  gave  into 
his  hands  the  kingdom  of  all  the  earth?  And  did 
we  not  keep  our  oath?  Have  we  not  held  to  the 
Amals?  Did  we  not  leave  Adolf,  because  we 
would  not  follow  a  Balth,  while  there  was  an  Amal 
to  lead  us?  Have  we  not  been  true  men  to  you, 
son  of  the  ^Esir?" 

"No  man  ever  saw  Wulf,  the  son  of  Ovida, 
fail  friend  or  foe." 

"Then  why  does  his  friend  fail  him?  Why 
does  his  friend  fail  himself?  If  the  bison-bull  lie 


54  Hypatia 

down  and  wallow,  what  will  the  herd  do  for  a 
leader?  If  the  king-wolf  lose  the  scent,  how  will 
the  pack  hold  it?  If  the  Yngling  forgets  the  song 
of  Asgard,  who  will  sing  it  to  the  heroes?" 

"  Sing  it  yourself,  if  you  choose.  Pelagia  sings 
quite  well  enough  for  me." 

In  an  instant  the  cunning  beauty  caught  at  the 
hint,  and  poured  forth  a  soft,  low,  sleepy  song :  — 

"  Loose  the  sail,  rest  the  oar,  float  away  down, 

Fleeting  and  gliding  by  tower  and  town ; 
Life  is  so  short  at  best !  snatch,  while  thou  can'st,  thy  rest, 
Sleeping  by  me ! " 

"  Can  you  answer  that,  Wulf  ?  "  shouted  a  dozen 
voices. 

"  Hear  the  song  of  Asgard,  warriors  of  the 
Goths !  Did  not  Alaric  the  king  love  it  well ! 
Did  I  not  sing  it  before  him  in  the  palace  of  the 
Caesars,  till  he  swore,  for  all  the  Christian  that  he 
was,  to  go  southward  in  search  of  the  holy  city? 
And  when  he  went  to  Valhalla,  and  the  ships  were 
wrecked  off  Sicily,  and  Adolf  the  Balth  turned 
back  like  a  lazy  hound,  and  married  the  daughter 
of  the  Romans,  whom  Odin  hates,  and  went  north- 
ward again  to  Gaul,  did  not  I  sing  you  all  the  song 
of  Asgard  in  Messina  there,  till  you  swore  to 
follow  the  Amal  through  fire  and  water  until  we 
found  the  hall  of  Odin,  and  received  the  mead-cup 
from  his  own  hand?  Hear  it  again,  warriors  of 
the  Goths!" 

"  Not  that  song !  "  roared  the  Amal,  stopping 
his  ears  with  both  his  hands.  "  Will  you  drive  us 
blood-mad  again,  just  as  we  are  settling  down  into 
our  sober  senses,  and  finding  out  what  our  lives 
were  given  us  for?" 


The  Goths  55 

"  Hear  the  song  of  Asgard !  On  to  Asgard, 
wolves  of  the  Goths !  "  shouted  another ;  and  a 
Babel  of  voices  arose. 

"  Have  n't  we  been  fighting  and  marching  these 
seven  years  ?  " 

"Haven't  we  drank  blood  enough  to  satisfy 
Odin  ten  times  over?  If  he  wants  us,  let  him 
come  himself  and  lead  us !  " 

"  Let  us  get  our  winds  again  before  we  start 
afresh?" 

"  Wulf  the  Prince  is  like  his  name,  and  never 
tires;  he  has  a  winter-wolf's  legs  under  him; 
that  is  no  reason  why  we  should  have." 

"Haven't  you  heard  what  the  monk  says?— 
we  can  never  get  over  those  cataracts." 

"  We  '11  stop  his  old-wives'  tales  for  him,  and 
then  settle  for  ourselves,"  said  Smid ;  and  spring- 
ing from  the  thwart  where  he  had  been  sitting, 
he  caught  up  a  bill  with  one  hand,  and  seized 
Philammon's  throat  with  the  other  ...  in  a 
moment  more,  it  would  have  been  all  ove;  with 
him  .  .  . 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life  Philammon  felt  a 
hostile  gripe  upon  him,  and  a  new  sensation  rushed 
through  every  nerve,  as  he  grappled  with  the 
warrior,  clutched  with  his  left  hand  the  uplifted 
wrist,  and  with  his  right  the  girdle,  and  com- 
menced without  any  definite  aim,  a  fierce  struggle, 
which,  strange  to  say,  as  it  went  on,  grew  abso- 
lutely pleasant. 

The  women  shrieked  to  their  lovers  to  part  the 
combatants,  but  in  vain. 

"Not  for  worlds!  A  very  fair  match  and  a 
very  fair  fight !  Take  your  long  legs  back,  Itho, 
or  they  will  be  over  you  !  That 's  right,  my  Srnid, 


56  Hypatia 

don't  use  the  knife  !  They  will  be  overboard  in  a 
moment!  By  all  the  Valkyrs,  they  are  down  I 
and  Smid  undermost  1  " 

There  was  no  doubt  of  it;  and  in  another 
moment  Philammon  would  have  wrenched  the  bill 
out  of  his  opponent's  hand,  when,  to  the  utter 
astonishment  of  the  on-lookers,  he  suddenly  loosed 
his  hold,  shook  himself  free  by  one  powerful 
wrench,  and  quietly  retreated  to  his  seat,  con- 
science-stricken at  the  fearful  thirst  for  blood 
which  had  suddenly  boiled  up  within  him  as  he 
felt  his  enemy  under  him. 

The  on-lookers  were  struck  dumb  with  astonish- 
ment ;  they  had  taken  for  granted  that  he  would, 
as  a  matter  of  course,  have  used  his  right  of  split- 
ting his  vanquished  opponent's  skull  —  an  event 
which  they  would  of  course  have  deeply  deplored, 
but  with  which,  as  men  of  honor,  they  could  not 
on  any  account  interfere,  but  merely  console  them- 
selves for  the  loss  of  their  comrade  by  flaying  his 
conqueror  alive, "  carving  him  into  the  blood-eagle," 
or  any  other  delicate  ceremony  which  might  serve 
as  a  vent  for  their  sorrow  and  a  comfort  to  the  soul 
of  the  deceased. 

Smid  rose,  with  a  bill  in  his  hand,  and  looked 
round  him  —  perhaps  to  see  what  was  expected 
of  him.  He  half  lifted  his  weapon  to  strike.  .  .  . 
Philammon,  seated,  looked  him  calmly  in  the 
face.  ...  The  old  warrior's  eye  caught  the  bank, 
which  was  now  receding  rapidly  past  them;  and 
when  he  saw  that  they  were  really  floating  down- 
wards again,  without  an  effort  to  stem  the  stream, 
he  put  away  his  bill,  and  sat  himself  down  delib- 
erately in  his  place,  astonishing  the  on-lookers 
quite  as  much  as  Philammon  had  done. 


The  Goths  57 

"  Five  minutes'  good  fighting,  and  no  one  killed ! 
This  is  a  shame !  "  quoth  another.  "  Blood  we 
must  see,  and  it  had  better  be  yours,  master  monk, 
than  your  betters',"  —  and  therewith  he  rushed  on 
poor  Philammon. 

He  spoke  the  heart  of  the  crew;  the  sleeping 
wolf  in  them  had  been  awakened  by  the  struggle, 
and  blood  they  would  have;  and  not  frantically, 
like  Celts  or  Egyptians,  but  with  the  cool,  humor- 
ous cruelty  of  the  Teuton,  they  rose  altogether, 
and  turning  Philammon  over  on  his  back,  delib- 
erated by  what  death  he  should  die. 

Philammon  quietly  submitted  —  if  submission 
have  anything  to  do  with  that  state  of  mind  in 
which  sheer  astonishment  and  novelty  have  broken 
up  all  the  custom  of  man's  nature,  till  the  strangest 
deeds  and  sufferings  are  taken  as  matters  of 
course.  His  sudden  escape  from  the  Laura,  the 
new  world  of  thought  and  action  into  which  he 
had  been  plunged,  the  new  companions  with  whom 
he  had  fallen  in,  had  driven  him  utterly  from  his 
moorings,  and  now  anything  and  everything  might 
happen  to  him.  He  who  had  promised  never  to 
look  upon  woman  found  himself,  by  circumstances 
over  which  he  had  no  control,  amid  a  boatful 
of  the  most  objectionable  species  of  that  most 
objectionable  genus  —  and  the  utterly  worst  hav- 
ing happened,  everything  else  which  happened 
must  be  better  than  the  worst.  For  the  rest,  he 
had  gone  forth  to  see  the  world  —  and  this  was 
one  of  the  ways  of  it.  So  he  made  up  his  mind 
to  see  it,  and  be  filled  with  the  fruit  of  his  own 
devices. 

And  he  would  have  been  certainly  filled  with 
the  same  in  five  minutes  more,  in  some  shape 


5  8  Hypatia 

too  ugly  to  be  mentioned:  but,  as  even  sinful 
women  have  hearts  in  them,  Pelagia  shrieked 
out: 

"  Amalric  t  Amalric  f  do  not  let  them  !  I  can- 
not bear  it!" 

"The  warriors  are  free  men,  my  darling,  and 
know  what  is  proper.  And  what  can  the  life  of 
such  a  brute  be  to  you ! " 

Before  he  could  stop  her,  Pelagia  had  sprung 
from  her  cushions,  and  thrown  herself  into  the 
midst  of  the  laughing  ring  of  wild  beasts. 

"  Spare  him !  Spare  him  for  my  sake !  "  shrieked 
she. 

"Oh,  my  pretty  lady!  you  mustn't  interrupt 
warriors'  sport ! " 

In  an  instant  she  had  torn  off  her  shawl,  and 
thrown  it  over  Philammon ;  and  as  she  stood,  with 
all  the  outlines  of  her  beautiful  limbs  revealed 
through  the  thin  robe  of  spangled  gauze : 

"  Let  the  man  who  dares,  touch  him  beneath 
that  shawl  !  —  though  it  be  a  saffron  one ! " 

The  Goths  drew  back.  For  Pelagia  herself 
they  had  as  little  respect  as  the  rest  of  the  world 
had.  But  for  a  moment  she  was  not  the  Messalina 
of  Alexandria,  but  a  woman ;  and  true  to  the  old 
woman-worshipping  instinct,  they  looked  one  and 
all  at  her  flashing  eyes,  full  of  noble  pity  and 
indignation,  as  well  as  of  mere  woman's  terror  — 
and  drew  back,  and  whispered  together. 

Whether  the  good  spirit  or  the  evil  one  would 
conquer,  seemed  for  a  moment  doubtful,  when 
Pelagia  felt  a  heavy  hand  on  her  shoulder,  and 
turning,  saw  Wulf  the  son  of  Ovida. 

"  Go  back,  pretty  woman !  Men,  I  claim  the 
boy.  Smid,  give  him  to  me.  He  is  your  man. 


The  Goths  59 

You  could  have  killed  him  if  you  had  chosen,  and 
did  not;  and  no  one  else  shall." 

"  Give  him  us,  Prince  Wulf !  We  have  not 
seen  blood  for  many  a  day ! " 

"  You  might  have  seen  rivers  of  it,  if  you  had 
had  the  hearts  to  go  onward.  The  boy  is  mine, 
and  a  brave  boy.  He  has  upset  a  warrior  fairly 
this  day,  and  spared  him;  and  we  will  make  a 
warrior  of  him  in  return." 

And  he  lifted  up  the  prostrate  monk. 

"  You  are  my  man  now.    Do  you  like  fighting?  " 

Philammon,  not  understanding  the  language  in 
which  he  was  addressed,  could  only  shake  his  head 
—  though  if  he  had  known  what  its  import  was,  he 
could  hardly  in  honesty  have  said,  No. 

"  He  shakes  his  head !  He  does  not  like  it ! 
He  is  craven !  Let  us  have  him  ! " 

"I  had  killed  kings  when  you  were  shooting 
frogs,"  cried  Smid.  "  Listen  to  me,  my  sons  !  A 
coward  grips  sharply  at  first,  and  loosens  his  hand 
after  a  while,  because  his  blood  is  soon  hot  and 
soon  cold.  A  brave  man's  gripe  grows  the  firmer 
the  longer  he  holds,  because  the  spirit  of  Odin 
comes  upon  him.  I  watched  the  boy's  hands  on 
my  throat ;  and  he  will  make  a  man ;  and  I  will 
make  him  one.  However,  we  may  as  well  make 
him  useful  at  once ;  so  give  him  an  oar." 

"  Well,"  answered  his  new  protector,  "  he  can  as 
well  row  us  as  be  rowed  by  us ;  and  if  we  are  to  go 
back  to  a  cow's  death  and  the  pool  of  Hela,  the 
quicker  we  go  the  better." 

And  as  the  men  settled  themselves  again  to  their 
oars,  one  was  put  into  Philammon's  hand,  which  he 
managed  with  such  strength  and  skill,  that  his  late 
tormentors,  who,  in  spite  of  an  occasional  inclina- 


60  Hypatia 

tion  to  robbery  and  murder,  were  thoroughly 
good-natured,  honest  fellows,  clapped  him  on  the 
back,  and  praised  him  as  heartily  as  they  had  just 
jiow  heartily  intended  to  torture  him  to  death,  and 
then  went  fonvard,  as  many  of  them  as  were  not 
rowing,  to  examine  the  strange  beast  which  they 
had  just  slaughtered,  pawing  him  over  from  tusks 
to  tail,  putting  their  heads  into  his  mouth,  trying 
their  knives  on  his  hide,  comparing  him  to  all 
beasts,  like  and  unlike,  which  they  had  ever  seen, 
and  laughing  and  shoving  each  other  about  with 
the  fun  and  childish  wonder  of  a  party  of  school- 
boys; till  Smid,  who  was  the  wit  of  the  party, 
settled  the  comparative  anatomy  of  the  subject  for 
them: 

"  Valhalla  !  I  Ve  found  out  what  he  's  most 
like  !  —  One  of  those  big  blue  plums,  which  gave 
us  all  the  stomach-ache  when  we  were  encamped 
in  the  orchards  above  Ravenna !  " 


CHAPTER  IV 

MIRIAM 

ONE  morning  in  the  same  week,  Hypatia's 
favorite  maid  entered  her  chamber  with  a 
somewhat  terrified  face. 

"  The  old  Jewess,  madam  —  the  hag  who  has 
been  watching  so  often  lately  under  the  wall 
opposite.  She  frightened  us  all  out  of  our  senses 
last  evening  by  peeping  in.  We  all  said  she  had 
the  evil  eye,  if  any  one  ever  had " 

"Well,  what  of  her?" 

"  She  is  below,  madam,  and  will  speak  with  you. 
Not  that  I  care  for  her ;  I  have  my  amulet  on.  I 
hope  you  have?" 

"  Silly  girl !  Those  who  have  been  initiated  as 
I  have  in  the  mysteries  of  the  gods,  can  defy 
spirits  and  command  them.  Do  you  suppose  that 
the  favorite  of  Pallas  Athene  will  condescend  to 
charms  and  magic?  Send  her  up." 

The  girl  retreated,  with  a  look  half  of  awe,  half 
of  doubt  at  the  lofty  pretensions  of  her  mistress, 
and  returned  with  old  Miriam,  keeping,  however, 
prudently  behind  her,  in  order  to  test  as  little  as 
possible  the  power  of  her  own  amulet  by  avoiding 
the  basilisk  eye  which  had  terrified  her. 

Miriam  came  in,  and  advancing  to  the  proud 
beauty,  who  remained  seated,  made  an  obeisance 
down  to  the  very  floor,  without,  however,  taking 
her  eyes  for  an  instant  off  Hypatia's  face. 


62  Hypatia 

Her  countenance  was  haggard  and  bony,  with 
broad  sharp-cut  lips,  stamped  with  a  strangely 
mingled  expression  of  strength  and  sensuality. 
But  the  feature  about  her  which  instantly  fixed 
Hypatia's  attention,  and  from  which  she  could  not 
in  spite  of  herself  withdraw  it,  was  the  dry,  glitter- 
ing, coal-black  eye  which  glared  out  from  under- 
neath the  gray  fringe  of  her  swarthy  brows,  between 
black  locks  covered  with  gold  coins.  Hypatia 
could  look  at  nothing  but  those  eyes;  and  she 
reddened,  and  grew  all  but  unphilosophically 
angry,  as  she  saw  that  the  old  woman  intended  her 
to  look  at  them,  and  feel  the  strange  power  which 
she  evidently  wished  them  to  exercise. 

After  a  moment's  silence,  Miriam  drew  a  letter 
from  her  bosom,  and  with  a  second  low  obeisance 
presented  it. 

"  From  whom  is  this  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  the  letter  itself  will  tell  the  beautiful 
lady,  the  fortunate  lady,  the  discerning  lady," 
answered  she,  in  a  fawning,  wheedling  tone. 
"  How  should  a  poor  old  Jewess  know  great  folks' 
secrets?" 

"Great  folks? " 

Hypatia  looked  at  the  seal  which  fixed  a  silk 
cord  round  the  letter.  It  was  Orestes';  and  so 
was  the  handwriting.  .  .  .  Strange  that  he  should 
have  chosen  such  a  messenger!  What  message 
could  it  be  which  required  such  secrecy? 

She  clapped  her  hands  for  the  maid.  "  Let  this 
woman  wait  in  the  ante-room."  Miriam  glided 
out  backwards,  bowing  as  she  went.  As  Hypatia 
looked  up  over  the  letter  to  see  whether  she  was 
alone,  she  caught  a  last  glance  of  that  eye  still 
fixed  upon  her,  and  an  expression  in  Miriam's  face 


Miriam  63 

which  made  her,  she  knew  not  why,  shudder  and 
turn  chill. 

"  Foolish  that  I  am !  What  can  that  witch  be 
to  me  ?  But  now  for  the  letter." 

"  To  the  most  noble  and  most  beautiful,  the  mistress 
of  philosophy,  beloved  of  Athene,  her  pupil  and  slave 
sends  greeting."  .  .  . 

"  My  slave !  and  no  name  mentioned !  " 

"  There  are  those  who  consider  that  the  favorite  hen 
of  Honorius,  which  bears  the  name  of  the  Imperial  City, 
would  thrive  better  under  a  new  feeder ;  and  the  Count 
of  Africa  has  been  despatched  by  himself  and  by  the 
immortal  gods  to  superintend  for  the  present  the  poultry- 
yard  of  the  Caesars  —  at  least  during  the  absence  of 
Aldolf  and  Placidia.  There  are  those  also  who  consider 
that  in  his  absence  the  Numidian  lion  might  be  pre- 
vailed on  to  become  the  yoke-fellow  of  the  Egyptian 
crocodile ;  and  a  farm  which,  ploughed  by  such  a  pair, 
should  extend  from  the  upper  cataract  to  the  pillars  of 
Hercules,  might  have  charms  even  for  a  philosopher. 
But  while  the  ploughman  is  without  a  nymph,  Arcadia  is 
imperfect.  What  were  Dionusos  without  his  Ariadne, 
Ares  without  Aphrodite,  Zeus  without  Here?  Even 
Artemis  has  her  Endymion;  Athene  alone  remains 
unwedded ;  but  only  because  Hephaestus  was  too  rough 
a  wooer.  Such  is  not  he  who  now  offers  to  the  repre- 
sentative of  Athene  the  opportunity  of  sharing  that 
which  may  be  with  the  help  of  her  wisdom,  which  with- 
out her  is  impossible.  Quvavra.  (rweroio-iv.  Shall  Eros, 
invincible  for  ages,  be  balked  at  last  of  the  noblest 
game  against  which  he  ever  drew  his  bow?  "  .  .  . 

If  Hypatia's  color  had  faded  a  moment  before 
under  the  withering  glance  of  the  old  Jewess, 
it  rose  again  swiftly  enough,  as  she  read  line  after 


64  Hypatia 

line  of  this  strange  epistle ;  till  at  last,  crushing  it 
together  in  her  hand,  she  rose  and  hurried  into  the 
adjoining  library,  where  Theon  sat  over  his  books. 

"  Father,  do  you  know  anything  of  this  ?  Look 
what  Orestes  has  dared  to  send  me  by  the  hands 
of  some  base  Jewish  witch !  "  —  And  she  spread 
the  letter  before  him,  and  stood  impatient,  her 
whole  figure  dilated  with  pride  and  anger,  as  the  old 
man  read  it  slowly  and  carefully,  and  then  looked 
up,  apparently  not  ill  pleased  with  the  contents. 

"What,  father?  "  asked  she,  half  reproachfully. 
"Do  not  you,  too,  feel  the  insult  which  has  been 
put  upon  your  daughter?  " 

"  My  dear  child,"  with  a  puzzled  look,  "  do  you 
not  see  that  he  offers  you " 

"  I  know  what  he  offers  me,  father.  The  Empire 
of  Africa.  ...  I  am  to  descend  from  the  mountain 
heights  of  science,  from  the  contemplation  of  the 
unchangeable  and  ineffable  glories,  into  the  foul 
fields  and  farmyards  of  earthly  practical  life,  and 
become  a  drudge  among  political  chicanery,  and 
the  petty  ambitions,  and  sins,  and  falsehoods  of 
the  earthly  herd.  .  .  .  And  the  price  which  he 
offers  me  —  me,  the  stainless  —  me,  the  virgin  — 
me,  the  untamed, —  is  —  his  hand  !  Pallas  Athene  I 
dost  thou  not  blush  with  thy  child  ?  " 

"  But,  my  child  —  my  child,  —  an  empire " 

"Would  the  empire  of  the  world  restore  my 
lost  self-respect  —  my  just  pride?  Would  it  save 
my  cheek  from  blushes  every  time  I  recollected 
that  I  bore  the  hateful  and  degrading  name  of 
wife?  —  The  property,  the  puppet  of  a  man  — 
submitting  to  his  pleasure  —  bearing  his  children 
—  wearing  myself  out  with  all  the  nauseous  cares 
of  wifehood  —  no  longer  able  to  glory  in  myself, 


Miriam  65 

pure  and  self-sustained,  but  forced  by  day  and 
night  to  recollect  that  my  very  beauty  is  no  longer 
the  sacrament  of  Athene's  love  for  me,  but  the 
plaything  of  a  man ;  —  and  such  a  man  as  that ! 
Luxurious,  frivolous,  heartless — courting  my  soci- 
ety, as  he  has  done  for  years,  only  to  pick  up  and 
turn  to  his  own  base  earthly  uses  the  scraps  which 
fall  from  the  festal  table  of  the  gods !  I  have  en- 
couraged him  too  much — vain  fool  that  I  have 
been!  No,  I  wrong  myself!  It  was  only  —  I 
thought  —  I  thought  that  by  his  being  seen  at 
our  doors,  the  cause  of  the  immortal  gods  would 
gain  honor  and  strength  in  the  eyes  of  the  multi- 
tude. ...  I  have  tried  to  feed  the  altars  of  heaven 
with  earthly  fuel.  .  .  .  And  this  is  my  just  reward  ! 
I  will  write  to  him  this  moment ;  —  return  by 
the  fitting  messenger  which  he  has  sent,  insult 
for  insult !  " 

"In  the  name  of  Heaven,  my  daughter! — for 
your  father's  sake  !  —  for  my  sake !  Hypatia !  — 
my  pride,  my  joy,  my  only  hope  !  —  have  pity  on 
my  gray  hairs  !  " 

And  the  poor  old  man  flung  himself  at  her  feet, 
and  clasped  her  knees  imploringly. 

Tenderly  she  lifted  him  up,  and  wound  her  long 
arms  round  him,  and  laid  his  head  on  her  white 
shoulder,  and  her  tears  fell  fast  upon  his  gray 
hair ;  but  her  lip  was  firm  and  determined. 

"Think  of  my  pride  —  my  glory  in  your  glory; 
think  of  me.  .  .  .  Not  for  myself!  You  know  I 
never  cared  for  myself !  "  sobbed  out  the  old  man. 
"  But  to  die  seeing  you  empress !  " 

"  Unless  I  died  first  in  childbed,  father,  as  many 
a  woman  dies  who  is  weak  enough  to  become  a 
slave.,  and  submit  to  tortures  only  fit  for  slaves." 


66  Hypatia 

"  But  —  but "  said  the  old  man,  racking  his 

bewildered  brains  for  some  argument  far  enough 
removed  from  nature  and  common  sense  to  have 
an  effect  on  the  beautiful  fanatic  —  "  but  the  cause 
of  the  gods !  What  you  might  do  for  it !  ... 
Remember  Julian !  " 

Hypatia's  arms  dropped  suddenly.  Yes ;  it  was 
true !  The  thought  flashed  across  her  mind  with 
mingled  delight  and  terror.  .  .  .  Visions  of  her 
childhood  rose  swift  and  thick  —  temples  —  sacri- 
fices— priesthoods — colleges — museums  !  What 
might  she  not  do?  What  might  she  not  make 
Africa!  Give  her  ten  years  of  power,  and  the 
hated  name  of  Christian  might  be  forgotten,  and 
Athene  Polias,  colossal  in  ivory  and  gold,  watch- 
ing in  calm  triumph  over  the  harbors  of  a  heathen 
Alexandria.  .  .  .  But  the  price  I 

And  she  hid  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  bursting 
into  bitter  tears,  walked  slowly  away  into  her  own 
chamber,  her  whole  body  convulsed  with  the  inter- 
nal struggle. 

The  old  man  looked  after  her,  anxiously  and 
perplexed,  and  then  followed,  hesitating.  She  was 
sitting  at  the  table,  her  face  buried  in  her  hands. 
He  did  not  dare  to  disturb  her.  In  addition  to  all 
the  affection,  the  wisdom,  the  glorious  beauty,  on 
which  his  whole  heart  fed  day  by  day,  he  believed 
her  to  be  the  possessor  of  those  supernatural 
powers  and  favors  to  which  she  so  boldly  laid 
claim.  And  he  stood  watching  her  in  the  door- 
way, praying  in  his  heart  to  all  gods  and  demons, 
principalities  and  powers,  from  Athene  down  to 
his  daughter's  guardian  spirit,  to  move  a  deter- 
mination which  he  was  too  weak  to  gainsay,  and 
yet  too  rational  to  approve. 


Miriam  67 

At  last  the  struggle  was  over,  and  she  looked  up, 
clear,  calm,  and  glorious  again. 

"It  shall  be.  For  the  sake  of  the  immortal 
gods  —  for  the  sake  of  art,  and  science,  and  learn- 
ing, and  philosophy.  ...  It  shall  be.  If  the  gods 
demand  a  victim,  here  am  I.  If  a  second  time  in 
the  history  of  the  ages  the  Grecian  fleet  cannot 
sail  forth,  conquering  and  civilizing,  without  the 
sacrifice  of  a  virgin,  I  give  my  throat  to  the 
knife.  Father,  call  me  no  more  Hypatia :  call  me 
Iphigenia !  " 

"  And  me  Agamemnon  ? "  asked  the  old  man, 
attempting  a  faint  jest  through  his  tears  of  joy. 
"I  dare  say  you  think  me  a  very  cruel  father; 
but " 

"  Spare  me,  father  —  I  have  spared  you." 

And  she  began  to  write  her  answer. 

"  I  have  accepted  his  offer  —  conditionally,  that 
is.  And  on  whether  he  have  courage  or  not  to 

fulfil  that  condition  depends Do  not  ask  me 

what  it  is.  While  Cyril  is  leader  of  the  Christian 
mob,  it  may  be  safer  for  you,  my  father,  that  you 
should  be  able  to  deny  all  knowledge  of  my  an- 
swer. Be  content.  I  have  said  this  —  that  if  he 
will  do  as  I  would  have  him  do,  I  will  do  as  you 
would  have  me  do." 

"  Have  you  not  been  too  rash?  Have  you  not 
demanded  of  him  something  which,  for  the  sake  of 
public  opinion,  he  dare  not  grant  openly,  and  yet 
which  he  may  allow  you  to  do  for  yourself  when 
once " 

"  I  have.  If  I  am  to  be  a  victim,  the  sacrificing 
priest  shall  at  least  be  a  man,  and  not  a  coward 
and  a  time-server.  If  he  believes  this  Christian 
faith,  let  him  defend  it  against  me ;  for  either  it  or 


68  Hypatia 

I  shall  perish.  If  he  does  not  —  as  he  does  not  — 
let  him  give  up  living  in  a  lie,  and  taking  on  his 
lips  blasphemies  against  the  immortals,  from  which 
his  heart  and  reason  revolt !  " 

And  she  clapped  her  hands  again  for  the  maid- 
servant, gave  her  the  letter  silently,  shut  the  doors 
of  her  chamber,  and  tried  to  resume  her  Com- 
mentary on  Plotinus.  Alas!  what  were  all  the 
wire-drawn  dreams  of  metaphysics  to  her  in  that 
real  and  human  struggle  of  the  heart?  What 
availed  it  to  define  the  process  by  which  individual 
souls  emanated  from  the  universal  one,  while  her 
own  soul  had,  singly  and  on  its  own  responsibility, 
to  decide  so  terrible  an  act  of  will?  or  to  write  fine 
words  with  pen  and  ink  about  the  immutability  of 
the  supreme  Reason,  while  her  own  reason  was 
left  there  to  struggle  for  its  life  amid  a  roaring 
shoreless  waste  of  doubts  and  darkness  ?  Oh,  how 
grand,  and  clear,  and  logical  it  had  all  looked  half 
an  hour  ago  !  And  how  irrefragably  she  had  been 
deducing  from  it  all,  syllogism  after  syllogism,  the 
non-existence  of  evil !  —  how  it  was  but  a  lower 
form  of  good,  one  of  the  countless  products  of  the 
one  great  all-pervading  mind  which  could  not  err 
or  change,  only  so  strange  and  recondite  in  its 
form  as  to  excite  antipathy  in  all  minds  but  that  of 
the  philosopher,  who  learnt  to  see  the  stem  which 
connected  the  apparently  bitter  fruit  with  the  per- 
fect root  from  whence  it  sprung.  Could  she  see 
the  stem  there  ?  —  the  connection  between  the 
pure  and  supreme  Reason,  and  the  hideous  caresses 
of  the  debauched  and  cowardly  Orestes?  was  not 
that  evil,  pure,  unadulterate  with  any  vein  of  good, 
past,  present,  or  future?  .  .  . 

True ;  —  she  might  keep  her  spirit  pure  amid  it 


Miriam  69 

all ;  she  might  sacrifice  the  base  body,  and  ennoble 
the  soul  by  the  self-sacrifice.  .  .  .  And  yet,  would 
not  that  increase  the  horror,  the  agony,  the  evil  of 
it  —  to  her,  at  least,  most  real  evil,  not  to  be 
explained  away  —  and  yet  the  gods  required  it? 
Were  they  just,  merciful  in  that?  Was  it  like 
them,  to  torture  her,  their  last  unshaken  votary? 
Did  they  require  it?  Was  it  not  required  of  them 
by  some  higher  power,  of  whom  they  were  only 
the  emanations,  the  tools,  the  puppets  ?  —  and  re- 
quired of  that  higher  power  by  some  still  higher 
one  —  some  nameless,  absolute  destiny  of  which 
Orestes  and  she,  and  all  heaven  and  earth,  were 
but  the  victims,  dragged  along  in  an  inevitable 
vortex,  helpless,  hopeless,  toward  that  for  which 
each  was  meant?  —  And  she  was  meant  for  this! 
The  thought  was  unbearable ;  it  turned  her  giddy. 
No !  she  would  not !  She  would  rebel !  Like 
Prometheus,  she  would  dare  destiny,  and  brave  its 
worst !  And  she  sprang  up  to  recall  the  letter.  .  .  . 
Miriam  was  gone;  and  she  threw  herself  on  the 
floor,  and  wept  bitterly. 

And  her  peace  of  mind  would  certainly  not 
have  been  improved,  could  she  have  seen  old 
Miriam  hurry  home  with  her  letter  to  a  dingy 
house  in  the  Jews'  quarter,  where  it  was  unsealed, 
read,  and  sealed  up  again  with  such  marvellous 
skill,  that  no  eye  could  have  detected  the  change ; 
and  finally,  still  less  would  she  have  been  com- 
forted could  she  have  heard  the  conversation  which 
was  going  on  in  a  summer-room  of  Orestes'  palace, 
between  that  illustrious  statesman  and  Raphael 
Aben-Ezra,  who  were  lying  on  two  divans  opposite 
each  other,  whiling  away,  by  a  throw  or  two  of  dice, 
the  anxious  moments  which  delayed  her  answer. 


70  Hypatia 

"  Treys  again !     The  devil  is  in  you,  Raphael !  " 

"  I  always  thought  he  was,"  answered  Raphael, 
sweeping  up  the  gold  pieces.  .  .  . 

"  When  will  that  old  witch  be  back?  " 

"  When  she  has  read  through  your  letter  and 
Hypatia's  answer." 

"Read  them?" 

"  Of  course.  You  don't  fancy  she  is  going  to 
be  fool  enough  to  carry  a  message  without  know- 
ing what  it  is?  Don't  be  angry;  she  won't  tell. 
She  would  give  one  of  those  two  grave-lights 
there,  which  she  calls  her  eyes,  to  see  the  thing 
prosper." 

"Why?" 

"Your  excellency  will  know  when  the  letter 
comes.  Here  she  is ;  I  hear  steps  in  the  cloister. 
Now,  one  bet  before  they  enter.  I  give  you  two 
to  one  she  asks  you  to  turn  pagan." 

"  What  in  ?    Negro-boys  ?  " 

"  Anything  you  like." 

"  Taken.     Come  in,  slaves  1 " 

And  Hypocorisma  entered,  pouting. 

"  That  Jewish  fury  is  outside  with  a  letter,  and 
has  the  impudence  to  say  she  won't  let  me  bring 
it  in ! " 

"  Bring  her  in  then.     Quick !  " 

"  I  wonder  what  I  am  here  for,  if  people  have 
secrets  that  I  am  not  to  know,"  grumbled  the 
spoilt  youth. 

"  Do  you  want  a  blue  ribbon  round  those  white 
sides  of  yours,  you  monkey?"  answered  Orestes. 
"Because,  if  you  do,  the  hippopotamus  hide  hangs 
ready  outside." 

"  Let  us  make  him  kneel  down  here  for  a  couple 
of  hours,  and  use  him  as  a  dice-t>oard,"  said 


Miriam  7 1 

Raphael,  "as  you  used  to  do  to  the  girls  in 
Armenia." 

"Ah,  you  recollect  that? — and  how  the  barba- 
rian papas  used  to  grumble,  till  I  had  to  crucify  one 
or  two,  eh  ?  That  was  something  like  life !  I  love 
those  out-of-the-way  stations,  where  nobody  asks 
questions :  but  here  one  might  as  well  live  among 
the  monks  in  Nitria.  Here  comes  Canidia!  Ah,  the 
answer  ?  Hand  it  here,  my  queen  of  go-betweens  !  " 

Orestes  read  it,  —  and  his  countenance  fell. 

"I  have  won?" 

"  Out  of  the  room,  slaves !  and  no  listening !  " 

"I  have  won  then?" 

Orestes  tossed  the  letter  across  to  him,  and 
Raphael  read: 

"  The  immortal  gods  accept  no  divided  worship ;  and 
he  who  would  command  the  counsels  of  their  prophetess 
must  remember  that  they  will  vouchsafe  to  her  no  illu- 
mination till  their  lost  honors  be  restored.  If  he  who 
aspires  to  be  the  lord  of  Africa  dare  trample  on  the  hate- 
ful cross,  and  restore  the  Caesareum  to  those  for  whose 
worship  it  was  built  —  if  he  dare  proclaim  aloud  with  his 
lips,  and  in  his  deeds,  that  contempt  for  novel  and  bar- 
barous superstitions,  which  his  taste  and  reason  have 
already  taught  him,  then  he  would  prove  himself  one 
with  whom  it  were  a  glory  to  labor,  to  dare,  to  die  in  a 
great  cause.  But  till  then " 

And  so  the  letter  ended. 

"What  am  I  to  do?" 

"  Take  her  at  her  word." 

"  Good  heavens  !  I  shall  be  excommunicated ! 
And  —  and  —  what  is  to  become  of  my  soul  ?  " 

"  What  will  become  of  it  in  any  case,  my  most 
excellent  lord  ?  "  answered  Raphael,  blandly. 


72  Hypatia 

"  You  mean  —  I  know  what  you  cursed  Jews 
think  will  happen  to  every  one  but  yourselves. 
But  what  would  the  world  say?  I  an  apostate  I 
And  in  the  face  of  Cyril  and  the  populace !  I 
dare  n't,  I  tell  you ! " 

"  No  one  asked  your  excellency  to  apostatize." 

"  Why,  what?    What  did  you  say  just  now?  " 

"I  asked  you  to  promise.  It  will  not  be  the 
first  time  that  promises  before  marriage  have  not 
exactly  coincided  with  performance  afterwards." 

"I  daren't  —  that  is,  I  won't  promise.  I  be- 
lieve, now,  this  is  some  trap  of  your  Jewish  intrigue, 
just  to  make  me  commit  myself  against  those 
Christians,  whom  you  hate." 

"  I  assure  you,  I  despise  all  mankind  far  too  pro- 
foundly to  hate  them.  How  disinterested  my 
advice  was  when  I  proposed  this  match  to  you, 
you  never  will  know ;  indeed,  it  would  be  boastful 
in  me  to  tell  you.  But  really  you  must  make  a 
little  sacrifice  to  win  this  foolish  girl.  With  all  the 
depth  and  daring  of  her  intellect  to  help  you,  you 
might  be  a  match  for  Romans,  Byzantines,  and 
Goths  at  once.  And  as  for  beauty  —  why,  there  is 
one  dimple  inside  that  wrist,  just  at  the  setting  on 
of  the  sweet  little  hand,  worth  all  the  other  flesh 
and  blood  in  Alexandria." 

"  By  Jove !  you  admire  her  so  much,  I  suspect 
you  must  be  in  love  with  her  yourself.  Why  don't 
you  marry  her?  I  '11  make  you  my  prime  minister, 
and  then  we  shall  have  the  use  of  her  wits  without 
the  trouble  of  her  fancies.  By  the  twelve  gods ! 
If  you  marry  her  and  help  me,  I  '11  make  you  what 
you  like ! " 

Raphael  rose  and  bowed  to  the  earth. 

"Your  serene  high-mightiness  overwhelms  me. 


Miriam  73 

But  I  assure  you,  that  never  having  as  yet  cared 
for  any  one's  interest  but  my  own,  I  could  not  be 
expected,  at  my  time  of  life,  to  devote  myself  to 
that  of  another,  even  though  it  were  to  yours." 

"  Candid !  " 

"  Exactly  so ;  and  moreover,  whosoever  I  may 
marry,  will  be  practically,  as  well  as  theoreti- 
cally, my  private  and  peculiar  property.  .  .  .  You 
comprehend." 

"  Candid  again." 

if Exactly  so;  and  waiving  the  third  argument, 
that  she  probably  might  not  choose  to  marry  me, 
I  beg  to  remark  that  it  would  not  be  proper  to 
allow  the  world  to  say,  that  I,  the  subject,  had  a 
wiser  and  fairer  wife  than  you,  the  ruler;  espe- 
cially a  wife  who  had  already  refused  that  ruler's 
complimentary  offer." 

"  By  Jove !  and  she  has  refused  me  in  good 
earnest !  I  '11  make  her  repent  it !  I  was  a  fool 
to  ask  her  at  all !  What 's  the  use  of  having 
guards,  if  one  can't  compel  what  one  wants?  If 
fair  means  can't  do  it,  foul  shall !  I  '11  send  for  her 
this  moment ! " 

"  Most  illustrious  majesty  —  it  will  not  succeed. 
You  do  not  know  that  woman's  determination. 
Scourges  and  red-hot  pincers  will  not  shake  her, 
alive ;  and  dead,  she  will  be  of  no  use  whatsoever 
to  you,  while  she  will  be  of  great  use  to  Cyril." 

"How?" 

"  He  will  be  most  happy  to  make  the  whole 
story  a  handle  against  you,  give  out  that  she  died 
a  virgin-martyr,  in  defence  of  the  most  holy  cath- 
olic and  apostolic  faith,  get  miracles  worked  at  her 
tomb,  and  pull  your  palace  about  your  ears  on  the 
strength  thereof." 

E— Vol.  VI 


74  Hypatia 

"  Cyril  will  hear  of  it  anyhow :  that 's  another 
dilemma  into  which  you  have  brought  me,  you 
intriguing  rascal !  Why,  this  girl  will  be  boasting 
all  over  Alexandria  that  I  have  offered  her 
marriage,  and  that  she  has  done  herself  the 
honor  to  refuse  me !  " 

"She  will  be  much  too  wise  to  do  anything  of 
the  kind;  she  has  sense  enough  to  know  that  if 
she  did  so,  you  would  inform  a  Christian  populace 
what  conditions  she  offered  you,  and,  with  all  her 
contempt  for  the  burden  of  the  flesh,  she  has  no 
mind  to  be  lightened  of  that  pretty  load  by  being 
torn  in  pieces  by  Christian  monks:  a  very  prob- 
able ending  for  her  in  any  case,  as  she  herself,  in 
her  melancholy  moods,  confesses !  " 

"  What  will  you  have  me  to  do,  then  ?  " 

"Simply  nothing.  Let  the  prophetic  spirit  go 
out  of  her,  as  it  will,  in  a  day  or  two,  and  then —  I 
know  nothing  of  human  nature,  if  she  does  not 
bate  a  little  of  her  own  price.  Depend  on  it,  for 
all  her  ineffabilities,  and  impassibilities,  and  all  the 
rest  of  the  seventh-heaven  moonshine  at  which  we 
play  here  in  Alexandria,  a  throne  is  far  too  pretty 
a  bait  for  even  Hypatia  the  Pythoness  to  refuse. 
Leave  well  alone  is  a  good  rule,  but  leave  ill  alone 
is  a  better.  So  now  another  bet  before  we  part, 
and  this  time  three  to  one.  Do  nothing  either 
way,  and  she  sends  to  you  of  her  own  accord 
before  a  month  is  out.  In  Caucasian  mules? 
Done?  Be  it  so." 

"  Well,  you  are  the  most  charming  counsellor 
for  a  poor  perplexed  devil  of  a  prefect !  If  I  had 
but  a  private  fortune  like  you,  I  could  just  take 
the  money,  and  let  the  work  do  itself." 

"  Which  is  the  true  method  of  successful  govern- 


Miriam  75 

ment.  Your  slave  bids  you  farewell.  Do  not 
forget  our  bet.  You  dine  with  me  to-morrow?" 

And  Raphael  bowed  himself  out. 

As  he  left  the  prefect's  door,  he  saw  Miriam  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  street,  evidently  watching 
for  him.  As  soon  as  she  saw  him,  she  held  her 
own  side,  without  appearing  to  notice  him,  till  he 
turned  a  corner,  and  then  crossing,  caught  him 
eagerly  by  the  arm. 

"Does  the  fool  dare?" 

"Who  dare  what?" 

"  You  know  what  I  mean.  Do  you  suppose  old 
Miriam  carries  letters  without  taking  care  to  know 
what  is  inside  them?  Will  he  apostatize?  Tell 
me.  I  am  secret  as  the  grave !  " 

"  The  fool  has  found  an  old  worm-eaten  rag  of 
conscience  somewhere  in  the  corner  of  his  heart, 
and  dare  not." 

"  Curse  the  coward !  And  such  a  plot  as  I  had 
laid !  I  would  have  swept  every  Christian  dog 
out  of  Africa  within  the  year.  What  is  the  man 
afraid  of?" 

"  Hell-fire." 

"  Why,  he  will  go  there  in  any  case,  the  accursed 
Gentile ! " 

"So  I  hinted  to  him,  as  delicately  as  I  could; 
but,  like  the  rest  of  the  world,  he  had  a  sort  of 
partiality  for  getting  thither  by  his  own  road." 

"Coward!  And  whom  shall  I  get  now?  Oh, 
if  that  Pelagia  had  as  much  cunning  in  her  whole 
body  as  Hypatia  has  in  her  little  finger,  I  'd  seat 
her  and  her  Goth  upon  the  throne  of  the  Caesars. 
But " 

"But  she  has  five  senses,  and  just  enough  wit 
to  use  them,  eh?" 


76  Hypatia 

"  Don't  laugh  at  her  for  that,  the  darling !  I  do 
delight  in  her,  after  all.  It  warms  even  my  old 
blood  to  see  how  thoroughly  she  knows  her 
business,  and  how  she  enjoys  it,  like  a  true 
daughter  of  Eve." 

"  She  has  been  your  most  successful  pupil,  cer- 
tainly, mother.  You  may  well  be  proud  of  her." 

The  old  hag  chuckled  to  herself  a  while;  and 
then  suddenly  turning  to  Raphael: 

"  See  here !  I  have  a  present  for  you ;  "  and  she 
pulled  out  a  magnificent  ring. 

"  Why,  mother,  you  are  always  giving  me  pres- 
ents. It  was  but  a  month  ago  you  sent  me  this 
poisoned  dagger." 

"Why  not,  eh?  —  why  not?  Why  should  not 
Jew  give  to  Jew?  Take  the  old  woman's  ring!" 

"  What  a  glorious  opal  ! " 

"Ah,  that  is  an  opal,  indeed  !  And  the  un- 
speakable name  upon  it;  just  like  Solomon's  own. 
Take  it,  I  say !  Whosoever  wears  that  never  need 
fear  fire,  steel,  poison,  or  woman's  eye." 

"Your  own  included,  eh?" 

"  Take  it,  I  say ! "  and  Miriam  caught  his  hand, 
and  forced  the  ring  on  his  finger.  "  There  !  Now 
you  're  safe.  And  now  call  me  mother  again.  I 
like  it.  I  don't  know  why,  but  I  like  it.  And  — 
Raphael  Aben-Ezra  —  don't  laugh  at  me,  and  call 
me  witch  and  hag,  as  you  often  do.  I  don't  care 
about  it  from  any  one  else ;  I  'm  accustomed  to  it. 
But  when  you  do  it,  I  always  long  to  stab  you. 
That 's  why  I  gave  you  the  dagger.  I  used  to  wear 
it;  and  I  was  afraid  I  might  be  tempted  to  use  it 
some  day,  when  the  thought  came  across  me  how 
handsome  you  'd  look,  and  how  quiet,  when  you 
were  dead,  and  your  soul  up  there  so  happy  in 


Miriam  77 

Abraham's  bosom,  watching  all  the  Gentiles  frying 
and  roasting  for  ever  down  below.  Don't  laugh  at 
me,  I  say;  and  don't  thwart  me!  I  may  make 
you  the  emperor's  prime  minister  some  day.  I 
can  if  I  choose." 

"  Heaven  forbid  ! "  said  Raphael,  laughing. 

"Don't  laugh.  I  cast  your  nativity  last  night, 
and  I  know  you  have  no  cause  to  laugh.  A  great 
danger  hangs  over  you,  and  a  deep  temptation. 
And  if  you  weather  this  storm,  you  may  be  cham- 
berlain, prime  minister,  emperor,  if  you  will.  And 
you  shall  be  —  by  the  four  archangels,  you  shall !  " 

And  the  old  woman  vanished  down  a  by-lane, 
leaving  Raphael  utterly  bewildered. 

"  Moses  and  the  prophets  !  Does  the  old  lady 
intend  to  marry  me?  What  can  there  be  in  this 
very  lazy  and  selfish  personage  who  bears  my 
name,  to  excite  so  romantic  an  affection?  Well, 
Raphael  Aben-Ezra,  thou  hast  one  more  friend  in 
the  world  beside  Bran  the  mastiff;  and  therefore 
one  more  trouble  —  seeing  that  friends  always  ex- 
pect a  due  return  of  affection  and  good  offices  and 
what  not.  I  wonder  whether  the  old  lady  has 
been  getting  into  a  scrape  kidnapping,  and  wants 
my  patronage  to  help  her  out  of  it.  ...  Three- 
quarters  of  a  mile  of  roasting  sun  between  me  and 
home !  ...  I  must  hire  a  gig,  or  a  litter,  or  some- 
thing, off  the  next  stand  .  .  .  with  a  driver  who  has 
been  eating  onions  .  .  .  and  of  course  there  is  not  a 
stand  for  the  next  half-mile.  Oh,  divine  aether !  as 
Prometheus  has  it,  and  ye  swift-winged  breezes  (I 
wish  there  were  any  here),  when  will  it  all  be  over? 
Three-and-thirty  years  have  I  endured  already  of 
this  Babel  of  knaves  and  fools;  and  with  this 
abominable  good  health  of  mine,  which  won't  even 


78  Hypatia 

help  me  with  gout  or  indigestion,  I  am  likely  to 
have  three-and-thirty  years  more  of  it.  ...  I  know 
nothing,  and  I  care  for  nothing,  and  I  expect 
nothing ;  and  I  actually  can't  take  the  trouble  to 
prick  a  hole  in  myself,  and  let  the  very  small 
amount  of  wits  out,  to  see  something  really  worth 
seeing,  and  try  its  strength  at  something  really 
worth  doing —  if,  after  all,  the  other  side  the  grave 
does  not  turn  out  to  be  just  as  stupid  as  this 
one.  .  .  .  When  will  it  be  all  over,  and  I  in  Abra- 
ham's bosom  —  or  anyone  else's,  provided  it  be 
not  a  woman's?" 


CHAPTER  V 

A  DAY  IN  ALEXANDRIA 

IN  the  meanwhile,  Philammon,  with  his  hosts,  the 
Goths,  had  been  slipping  down  the  stream. 
Passing,  one  after  another,  world-old  cities  now 
dwindled  to  decaying  towns,  and  numberless  canal- 
mouths,  now  fast  falling  into  ruin  with  the  fields  to 
which  they  insured  fertility,  under  the  pressure  of 
Roman  extortion  and  misrule,  they  had  entered 
one  evening  the  mouth  of  the  great  canal  of 
Alexandria,  slid  easily  all  night  across  the  star- 
bespangled  shadows  of  Lake  Mareotis,  and  found 
themselves,  when  the  next  morning  dawned,  among 
the  countless  masts  and  noisy  quays  of  the  greatest 
seaport  in  the  world.  The  motley  crowd  of  for- 
eigners, the  hubbub  of  all  dialects  from  the  Crimea 
to  Cadiz,  the  vast  pile  of  merchandise,  and  heaps 
of  wheat,  lying  unsheltered  in  that  rainless  air,  the 
huge  bulk  of  the  corn-ships  lading  for  Rome, 
whose  tall  sides  rose  story  over  story,  like  floating 
palaces,  above  the  buildings  of  some  inner  dock  — 
these  sights,  and  a  hundred  more,  made  the  young 
monk  think  that  the  world  did  not  look  at  first 
sight  a  thing  to  be  despised.  In  front  of  heaps  of 
fruit,  fresh  from  the  market-boats,  black  groups  of 
glossy  negro  slaves  were  basking  and  laughing  on 
the  quay,  looking  anxiously  and  coquettishly  round 
in  hopes  of  a  purchaser;  they  evidently  did  not 
think  the  change  from  desert  toil  to  city  luxuries  a 


80  Hypatia 

change  for  the  worse.  Philammon  turned  away 
his  eyes  from  beholding  vanity ;  but  only  to  meet 
fresh  vanity  wheresoever  they  fell.  He  felt  crushed 
by  the  multitude  of  new  objects,  stunned  by  the  din 
around ;  and  scarcely  recollected  himself  enough 
to  seize  the  first  opportunity  of  escaping  from  his 
dangerous  companions. 

"  Holloa !  "  roared  Smid  the  armorer,  as  he 
scrambled  on  to  the  steps  of  the  slip ;  "  you  are 
not  going  to  run  away  without  bidding  us  good- 
bye?" 

"Stop  with  me,  boy!"  said  old  Wulf.  "I 
saved  you ;  and  you  are  my  man." 

Philammon  turned  and  hesitated. 

"  I  am  a  monk,  and  God's  man." 

"  You  can  be  that  anywhere.  I  will  make  you  a 
warrior." 

"The  weapons  of  my  warfare  are  not  of  flesh 
and  blood,  but  prayer  and  fasting,"  answered  poor 
Philammon,  who  felt  already  that  he  should  have 
ten  times  more  need  of  the  said  weapons  in  Alex- 
andria than  ever  he  had  had  in  the  desert.  .  .  . 
"  Let  me  go !  I  am  not  made  for  your  life !  I 
thank  you,  bless  you !  I  will  pray  for  you,  sir ! 
but  let  me  go !  " 

"  Curse  the  craven  hound  !  "  roared  half-a-dozen 
voices.  "Why  did  you  not  let  us  have  our  will 
with  him,  Prince  Wulf?  You  might  have  expected 
such  gratitude  from  a  monk." 

"  He  owes  me  my  share  of  the  sport,"  quoth 
Smid.  "  And  here  it  is  !  "  And  a  hatchet,  thrown 
with  practised  aim,  whistled  right  for  Philammon's 
head  —  he  had  just  time  to  swerve,  and  the  weapon 
struck  and  snapped  against  the  granite  wall 
behind. 


A  Day  in  Alexandria  81 

"Well  saved!"  said  Wulf,  coolly,  while  the 
sailors  and  market-women  above  yelled  murder, 
and  the  custom-house  officers,  and  other  con- 
stables and  catchpolls  of  the  harbor,  rushed  to  the 
place  —  and  retired  again  quietly  at  the  thunder  of 
the  Amal  from  the  boat's  stern: 

"  Never  mind,  my  good  fellows !  we  're  only 
Goths ;  and  on  a  visit  to  the  prefect,  too." 

"  Only  Goths,  my  donkey-riding  friends  ! "  echoed 
Smid,  and  at  that  ominous  name  the  whole  posse 
comitatus  tried  to  look  unconcerned,  aud  found 
suddenly  that  their  presence  was  absolutely  re- 
quired in  an  opposite  direction. 

"  Let  him  go,"  said  Wulf,  as  he  stalked  up  the 
steps.  "  Let  the  boy  go.  I  never  set  my  heart  on 
any  man  yet,"  he  growled  to  himself  in  an  under 
voice,  "but  what  he  disappointed  me  —  and  I 
must  not  expect  more  from  this  fellow.  Come, 
men,  ashore,  and  get  drunk !  " 

Philammon,  of  course,  now  that  he  had  leave  to 
go,  longed  to  stay  —  at  all  events,  he  must  go 
back  and  thank  his  hosts.  He  turned  unwillingly 
to  do  so,  as  hastily  as  he  could,  and  found  Pelagia 
and  her  gigantic  lover  just  entering  a  palanquin. 
With  downcast  eyes  he  approached  the  beautiful 
basilisk,  and  stammered  out  some  common- 
place ;  and  she,  full  of  smiles,  turned  to  him  at 
once. 

"  Tell  us  more  about  yourself  before  we  part. 
You  speak  such  beautiful  Greek  —  true  Athenian. 
It  is  quite  delightful  to  hear  one's  own  accent 
again.  Were  you  ever  at  Athens?" 

"When  I  was  a  child;  I  recollect  —  that  is,  I 
think " 

"What?"  asked  Pelagia,  eagerly. 


8  2  Hypatia 

"  A  great  house  in  Athens  —  and  a  great  battle 
there  —  and  coming  to  Egypt  in  a  ship." 

"  Heavens !  "  said  Pelagia,  and  paused.  .  .  ; 
"  How  strange !  Girls,  who  said  he  was  like  me?  " 

"  I  'm  sure  we  meant  no  harm,  if  we  did  say  it  in 
a  joke,"  pouted  one  of  the  attendants. 

"  Like  me !  —  you  must  come  and  see  us.  I 
have  something  to  say  to  you.  .  .  .  You  must !  " 

Philammon  misinterpreted  the  intense  interest  of 
her  tone,  and  if  he  did  not  shrink  back,  gave  some 
involuntary  gesture  of  reluctance.  Pelagia  laughed 
aloud. 

"  Don't  be  vain  enough  to  suspect,  foolish  boy, 
but  come !  Do  you  think  that  I  have  nothing  to 
talk  about  but  nonsense !  Come  and  see  me.  It 

may  be  better  for  you.  I  live  in ,"  and  she 

named  a  fashionable  street,  which  Philammon, 
though  he  inwardly  vowed  not  to  accept  the  invi- 
tation, somehow  could  not  help  remembering. 

"Do  leave  the  wild  man,  and  come,"  growled 
the  Amal  from  within  the  palanquin.  "You  are 
not  going  to  turn  nun,  I  hope  ?  " 

"  Not  while  the  first  man  I  ever  met  in  the  world 
stays  in  it,"  answered  Pelagia,  as  she  skipped  into 
the  palanquin,  taking  care  to  show  the  most  lovely 
white  heel  and  ankle,  and,  like  the  Parthian,  send 
a  random  arrow  as  she  retreated.  But  the  dart 
was  lost  on  Philammon,  who  had  been  already 
hustled  away  by  the  bevy  of  laughing  attendants, 
amid  baskets,  dressing-cases,  and  bird-cages,  and 
was  fain  to  make  his  escape  into  the  Babel  round, 
and  inquire  his  way  to  the  patriarch's  house. 

"Patriarch's  house?"  answered  the  man  whom 
he  first  addressed,  a  little  lean,  swarthy  fellow,  with 
merry  black  eyes,  who,  with  a  basket  of  fruit  at  his 


A  Day  in  Alexandria  83 

feet,  was  sunning  himself  on  a  baulk  of  timber, 
meditatively  chewing  the  papyrus-cane,  and  exam- 
ining the  strangers  with  a  look  of  absurd  sagacity. 
"  I  know  it ;  without  a  doubt  I  know  it ;  all  Alex- 
andria has  good  reason  to  know  it.  Are  you  a 
monk?" 

"Yes." 

"  Then  ask  your  way  of  the  monks ;  you  won't 
go  far  without  rinding  one." 

"  But  I  do  not  even  know  the  right  direction : 
what  is  your  grudge  against  monks,  my  good 
man?" 

"  Look  here,  my  youth ;  you  seem  too  ingen- 
uous for  a  monk.  Don't  flatter  yourself  that  it 
will  last.  If  you  can  wear  the  sheepskin,  and 
haunt  the  churches  here  for  a  month,  without 
learning  to  lie,  and  slander,  and  clap,  and  hoot,  and 
perhaps  play  your  part  in  a  sedition-and-murder 
satyric  drama  —  why,  you  are  a  better  man  than  I 
take  you  for.  I,  sir,  am  a  Greek,  and  a  philoso- 
pher ;  though  the  whirlpool  of  matter  may  have, 
and  indeed  has,  involved  my  ethereal  spark  in  the 
body  of  a  porter.  Therefore,  youth,"  continued 
the  little  man,  starting  up  upon  his  baulk  like  an 
excited  monkey,  and  stretching  out  one  oratoric 
paw,  "  I  bear  a  treble  hatred  to  the  monkish  tribe. 
First,  as  a  man  and  a  husband ;  .  .  .  for  as  for  the 
smiles  of  beauty,  or  otherwise,  —  such  as  I  have,  I 
have;  and  the  monks,  if  they  had  their  wicked 
will,  would  leave  neither  men  nor  women  in  the 
world.  Sir,  they  would  exterminate  the  human 
race  in  a  single  generation,  by  a  voluntary  suicide ! 
Secondly,  as  a  porter;  for  if  all  men  turned 
monks,  nobody  would  be  idle,  and  the  profession 
of  portering  would  be  annihilated.  Thirdly,  sir,  as 


84  Hypatia 

a  philosopher;  for  as  the  false  coin  is  odious  to 
the  true,  so  is  the  irrational  and  animal  asceticism 
of  the  monk,  to  the  logical  and  methodic  self- 
restraint  of  one  who,  like  your  humblest  of 
philosophers,  aspires  to  a  life  according  to  the 
pure  reason." 

"And  pray,"  asked  Philammon,  half-laughing, 
"  who  has  been  your  tutor  in  philosophy?  " 

"  The  fountain  of  classic  wisdom,  Hypatia  her- 
self. As  the  ancient  sage  —  the  name  is  unimpor- 
tant to  a  monk  —  pumped  water  nightly  that  he 
might  study  by  day,  so  I,  the  guardian  of  cloaks 
and  parasols  at  the  sacred  doors  of  her  lecture- 
room,  imbibe  celestial  knowledge.  From  my 
youth  I  felt  in  me  a  soul  above  the  matter- 
entangled  herd.  She  revealed  to  me  the  glorious 
fact,  that  I  am  a  spark  of  Divinity  itself.  A  fallen 
star,  I  am,  sir !  "  continued  he,  pensively,  stroking 
his  lean  stomach  —  "a  fallen  star !  —  fallen,  if  the 
dignity  of  philosophy  will  allow  of  the  simile, 
among  the  hogs  of  the  lower  world  —  indeed,  even 
into  the  hog-bucket  itself.  Well,  after  all,  I  will 
show  you  the  way  to  the  archbishop's.  There  is 
a  philosophic  pleasure  in  opening  one's  treasures 
to  the  modest  young.  Perhaps  you  will  assist  me 
by  carrying  this  basket  of  fruit?"  And  the  little 
man  jumped  up,  put  his  basket  on  Philammon's 
head,  and  trotted  off  up  a  neighboring  street. 

Philammon  followed,  half  contemptuous,  half 
wondering  at  what  this  philosophy  might  be, 
which  could  feed  the  self-conceit  of  anything  so 
abject  as  his  ragged  little  apish  guide;  but  the 
novel  roar  and  whirl  of  the  street,  the  perpetual 
stream  of  busy  faces,  the  line  of  curricles,  palan- 
quins, laden  asses,  camels,  elephants,  which  met 


A  Day  in  Alexandria  85 

and  passed  him,  and  squeezed  him  up  steps  and 
into  doorways,  as  they  threaded  their  way  through 
the  great  Moon-gate  into  the  ample  street  beyond, 
drove  everything  from  his  mind  but  wondering 
curiosity,  and  a  vague,  helpless  dread  of  that  great 
living  wilderness,  more  terrible  than  any  dead  wil- 
derness of  sand  which  he  had  left  behind.  Already 
he  longed  for  the  repose,  the  silence  of  the  Laura 
—  for  faces  which  knew  him  and  smiled  upon  him ; 
but  it  was  too  late  to  turn  back  now.  His  guide 
held  on  for  more  than  a  mile  up  the  great  main 
street,  crossed  in  the  center  of  the  city,  at  right 
angles,  by  one  equally  magnificent,  at  each  end  of 
which,  miles  away,  appeared,  dim  and  distant  over 
the  heads  of  the  living  stream  of  passengers,  the 
yellow  sand-hills  of  the  desert ;  while  at  the  end  of 
the  vista  in  front  of  them  gleamed  the  blue  harbor, 
through  a  network  of  countless  masts. 

At  last  they  reached  the  quay  at  the  opposite 
end  of  the  street ;  and  there  burst  on  Philammon's 
astonished  eyes  a  vast  semicircle  of  the  blue  sea, 
ringed  with  palaces  and  towers.  .  .  .  He  stopped 
•involuntarily;  and  his  little  guide  stopped  also, 
and  looked  askance  at  the  young  monk,  to  watch 
the  effect  which  that  grand  panorama  should  pro- 
duce on  him. 

"  There ! Behold  our  works !  Us  Greeks !  — 

Us  benighted  heathens  !  Look  at  it  and  feel  your- 
self what  you  are,  a  very  small,  conceited,  ignorant 
young  person,  who  fancies  that  your  new  religion 
gives  you  a  right  to  despise  every  one  else.  Did 
Christians  make  all  this?  Did  Christians  build 
that  Pharos  there  on  the  left  horn  —  wonder  of  the 
world?  Did  Christians  raise  that  mile-long  mole 
which  runs  towards  the  land,  with  its  two  draw- 


86  Hypatia 

bridges,  connecting  the  two  ports  ?  Did  Christians 
build  this  esplanade,  or  this  gate  of  the  Sun  above 
our  heads?  Or  that  Caesareum  on  our  right  here? 
Look  at  those  obelisks  before  it ! "  And  he 
pointed  upwards  to  those  two  world-famous  ones, 
one  of  which  still  lies  on  its  ancient  site,  as  Cleo- 
patra's Needle.  "  Look  up  !  look  up,  I  say,  and 
feel  small  —  very  small  indeed  !  Did  Christians 
raise  them,  or  engrave  them  from  base  to  point 
with  the  wisdom  of  the  ancients  ?  Did  Christians 
build  that  Museum  next  to  it,  or  design  its  statues 
and  its  frescoes  —  now,  alas  !  re-echoing  no  more 
to  the  hummings  of  the  Attic  bee?  Did  they  pile 
up  out  of  the  waves  that  palace  beyond  it,  or  that 
Exchange,  or  fill  that  Temple  of  Neptune  with 
breathing  brass  and  blushing  marble?  Did  they 
build  that  Timonium  on  the  point,  where  Antony, 
worsted  at  Actium,  forgot  his  shame  in  Cleopatra's 
arms?  Did  they  quarry  out  that  island  ofAntir- 
rhodus  into  a  nest  of  docks,  or  cover  those  waters 
with  the  sails  of  every  nation  under  heaven? 
Speak !  Thou  son  of  bats  and  moles  —  thou  six 
feet  of  sand  —  thou  mummy  out  of  the  cliff 
caverns  !  Can  monks  do  works  like  these?" 

"  Other  men  have  labored,  and  we  have  entered 
into  their  labors,"  answered  Philammon,  trying  to 
seem  as  unconcerned  as  he  could.  He  was,  in- 
deed, too  utterly  astonished  to  be  angry  at  any- 
thing. The  overwhelming  vastness,  multiplicity, 
and  magnificence  of  the  whole  scene ;  the  range  of 
buildings,  such  as  mother  earth  never,  perhaps, 
carried  on  her  lap  before  or  since,  the  extraor- 
dinary variety  of  form  —  the  pure  Doric  and  Ionic 
of  the  earlier  Ptolemies,  the  barbaric  and  confused 
gorgeousness  of  the  later  Roman,  and  here  and 


A  Day  in  Alexandria  87 

there  an  imitation  of  the  grand  elephantine  style  of 
old  Egypt,  its  gaudy  colors  relieving,  while  they 
deepened,  the  effect  of  its  massive  and  simple  out- 
lines ;  the  eternal  repose  of  that  great  belt  of  stone 
contrasting  with  the  restless  ripple  of  the  glittering 
harbor,  and  the  busy  sails  which  crowded  out  into 
the  sea  beyond,  like  white  doves  taking  their  flight 
into  boundless  space  —  all  dazzled,  overpowered, 
saddened  him.  .  .  .  This  was  the  world.  .  .  .  Was  it 
not  beautiful  ?  .  .  .  .  Must  not  the  men  who  made 
all  this  have  been  —  if  not  great  .  .  .  yet  ...  he 
knew  not  what  ?  Surely  they  had  great  souls  and 
noble  thoughts  in  them !  Surely  there  was  some- 
thing god-like  in  being  able  to  create  such  things  1 
Not  for  themselves  alone,  too ;  but  for  a  nation  — 
for  generations  yet  unborn.  .  .  .  And  there  was  the 
sea  ...  and  beyond  it,  nations  of  men  innumer- 
able. .  .  .  His  imagination  was  dizzy  with  thinking 
of  them.  .  .  .  Were  they  all  doomed  —  lost?  .  .  . 
Had  God  no  love  for  them? 

At  last,  recovering  himself,  he  recollected  his 
errand,  and  again  asked  his  way  to  the  arch- 
bishop's house. 

"  This  way,  O  youthful  nonentity !  "  answered 
the  little  man,  leading  the  way  round  the  great 
front  of  the  Caesareum,  at  the  foot  of  the  obelisks. 

Philammon's  eye  fell  on  some  new  masonry  in 
the  pediment,  ornamented  with  Christian  symbols. 

"  How  ?     Is  this  a  church  ?  " 

"  It  is  the  Caesareum.  It  has  become  tempo- 
rarily a  church.  The  immortal  gods  have,  for  the 
time  being,  condescended  to  waive  their  rights; 
but  it  is  the  Caesareum,  nevertheless.  This  way; 
down  this  street  to  the  right.  There,"  said  he, 
pointing  to  a  doorway  in  the  side  of  the  Museum, 


88  Hypatia 

"is  the  last  haunt  of  the  Muses  —  the  lecture-room 
of  Hypatia,  the  school  of  my  unworthiness.  .  .  . 
And  here,"  stopping  at  the  door  of  a  splendid 
house  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street,  "  is  the 
residence  of  that  blest  favorite  of  Athene  —  Neith, 
as  the  barbarians  of  Egypt  would  denominate  the 
goddess  —  we  men  of  Macedonia  retain  the  time- 
honored  Grecian  nomenclature.  .  .  .  You  may  put 
down  your  basket."  And  he  knocked  at  the  door, 
and  delivering  the  fruit  to  a  black  porter,  made  a 
polite  obeisance  to  Philammon,  and  seemed  on  the 
point  of  taking  his  departure. 

"  But  where  is  the  archbishop's  house?  " 

"  Close  to  the  Serapeium.  You  cannot  miss 
the  place :  four  hundred  columns  of  marble,  now 
ruined  by  Christian  persecutors,  stand  on  an 
eminence " 

"  But  how  far  off  ?  " 

"About  three  miles;  near  the  gate  of  the 
Moon." 

"  Why,  was  not  that  the  gate  by  which  we 
entered  the  city  on  the  other  side  ?  " 

"Exactly  so;  you  will  know  your  way  back, 
having  already  traversed  it" 

Philammon  checked  a  decidedly  carnal  inclina- 
tion to  seize  the  little  fellow  by  the  throat,  and 
knock  his  head  against  the  wall,  and  contented 
himself  by  saying : 

"  Then  do  you  actually  mean  to  say,  you  heathen 
villain,  that  you  have  taken  me  six  or  seven  miles 
out  of  my  road  ?  " 

"  Good  words,  young  man.  If  you  do  me  harm, 
I  call  for  help ;  we  are  close  to  the  Jews'  quarter, 
and  there  are  some  thousands  there  who  will  swarm 
out  like  wasps  on  the  chance  of  beating  a  monk  to 


A  Day  in  Alexandria  89 

death.  Yet  that  which  I  have  done,  I  have  done 
with  a  good  purpose.  First,  politically,  or  accord- 
ing to  practical  wisdom  —  in  order  that  you,  not 
I,  might  carry  the  basket.  Next,  philosophically, 
or  according  to  the  intuitions  of  the  pure  reason  — 
in  order  that  you  might,  by  beholding  the  magnifi- 
cence of  that  great  civilization  which  your  fellows 
wish  to  destroy,  learn  that  you  are  an  ass,  and  a 
tortoise,  and  a  nonentity,  and  so  beholding  your- 
self to  be  nothing,  may  be  moved  to  become 
something." 

And  he  moved  off. 

Philammon  seized  him  by  the  collar  of  his 
ragged  tunic,  and  held  him  in  a  grip  from  which 
the  little  man,  though  he  twisted  like  an  eel,  could 
not  escape. 

"  Peaceably,  if  you  will ;  if  not,  by  main  force. 
You  shall  go  back  with  me,  and  show  me  every 
step  of  the  way.  It  is  a  just  penalty." 

"  The  philosopher  conquers  circumstances  by 
submitting  to  them.  I  go  peaceably.  Indeed,  the 
base  necessities  of  the  hog-bucket  side  of  existence 
compel  me  of  themselves  back  to  the  Moon-gate, 
for  another  early  fruit  job." 

So  they  went  back  together. 

Now  why  Philammon's  thoughts  should  have 
been  running  on  the  next  new  specimen  of  woman- 
kind to  whom  he  had  been  introduced,  though 
only  in  name,  let  psychologists  tell,  but  certainly, 
after  he  had  walked  some  half-mile  in  silence,  he 
suddenly  woke  up,  as  out  of  many  meditations,  and 
asked : 

"  But  who  is  this  Hypatia,  of  whom  you  talk  so 
much?" 

"  Who  is  Hypatia,  rustic  ?    The  queen  of  Alex  - 


90  Hypatia 

andria!  In  wit,  Athene;  Hera  in  majesty;  in 
beauty,  Aphrodite !  " 

"And  who  are  they?"  asked  Philammon. 

The  porter  stopped,  surveyed  him  slowly  from 
foot  to  head  with  an  expression  of  boundless  pity 
and  contempt,  and  was  in  the  act  of  walking  off  in 
the  ecstasy  of  his  disdain,  when  he  was  brought  to 
suddenly  by  Philammon's  strong  arm. 

"  Ah !  —  I  recollect.  There  is  a  compact.  .  . . 
Who  is  Athene?  The  goddess,  giver  of  wisdom. 
Hera,  spouse  of  Zeus,  queen  of  the  Celestials. 
Aphrodite,  mother  of  love.  .  .  .  You  are  not  ex- 
pected to  understand." 

Philammon  did  understand,  however,  so  much  as 
this,  that  Hypatia  was  a  very  unique  and  wonder- 
ful person  in  the  mind  of  his  little  guide;  and 
therefore  asked  the  only  further  question  by 
which  he  could  as  yet  test  any  Alexandrian 
phenomenon : 

"And  is  she  a  friend  of  the  patriarch?  " 

The  porter  opened  his  eyes  very  wide,  put  his 
middle  finger  in  a  careful  and  complicated  fashion 
between  his  fore  and  third  finger,  and  extending  it 
playfully  towards  Philammon,  performed  therewith 
certain  mysterious  signals,  the  effect  whereof  being 
totally  lost  on  him,  the  little  man  stopped,  took 
another  look  at  Philammon's  stately  figure,  and 
answered : 

"  Of  the  human  race  in  general,  my  young 
friend.  The  philosopher  must  rise  above  the  in- 
dividual, to  the  contemplation  of  the  universal.  .  .  . 
Aha  !  —  Here  is  something  worth  seeing,  and  the 
gates  are  open."  And  he  stopped  at  the  portal  of 
a  vast  building. 

"  Is  this  the  patriarch's  house?  " 


A  Day  in  Alexandria  91 

"The  patriarch's  tastes  are  more  plebeian.  He 
lives,  they  say,  in  two  dirty  little  rooms  —  knowing 
what  is  fit  for  him.  The  patriarch's  house?  Its 
antipodes,  my  young  friend  —  that  is,  if  such 
beings  have  a  cosmic  existence,  on  which  point 
Hypatia  has  her  doubts.  This  is  the  temple  of  art 
and  beauty ;  the  Delphic  tripod  of  poetic  inspira- 
tion; the  solace  of  the  earthworn  drudge;  in  a 
word,  the  theatre;  which  your  patriarch,  if  he 

could,  would  convert  to-morrow  into  a but  the 

philosopher  must  not  revile.  Ah !  I  see  the  pre- 
fect's apparitors  at  the  gate.  He  is  making  the 
polity,  as  we  call  it  here ;  the  dispositions ;  settling, 
in  short,  the  bill  of  fare  for  the  day,  in  compliance 
with  the  public  palate.  A  facetious  pantomime 
dances  here  on  this  day  every  week  —  admired  by 
some,  the  Jews  especially.  To  the  more  classic 
taste,  many  of  his  movements  —  his  recoil,  espe- 
cially —  are  wanting  in  the  true  antique  severity  — 
might  be  called,  perhaps,  on  the  whole,  indecent. 
Still  the  weary  pilgrim  must  be  amused.  Let  us 
step  in  and  hear." 

But  before  Philammon  could  refuse,  an  uproar 
arose  within,  a  rush  outward  of  the  mob,  and  in- 
ward of  the  prefect's  apparitors. 

"  It  is  false  !  "  shouted  many  voices.  "  A  Jewish 
calumny !  The  man  is  innocent !  " 

"  There  is  no  more  sedition  in  him  than  there  is 
in  me,"  roared  a  fat  butcher,  who  looked  as  ready 
to  fell  a  man  as  an  ox.  "  He  was  always  the  first 
and  the  last  to  clap  the  holy  patriarch  at  sermon." 

"  Dear  tender  soul,"  whimpered  a  woman  ;  "  and 
I  said  to  him  only  this  morning,  why  don't  you 
flog  my  boys,  Master  Hierax?  how  can  you  expect 
them  to  learn  if  they  are  not  flogged?  And  he 


92  Hypatia 

said,  he  never  could  abide  the  sight  ol  a  rod,  it 
made  his  back  tingle  so." 

"  Which  was  plainly  a  prophecy !  " 

"  And  proves  him  innocent ;  for  how  could  he 
prophesy  if  he  was  not  one  of  the  holy  ones  ?  " 

"  Monks,  to  the  rescue !  Hierax,  a  Christian,  is 
taken  and  tortured  in  the  theatre !  "  thundered  a 
wild  hermit,  his  beard  and  hair  streaming  about  his 
chest  and  shoulders. 

"  Nitria !  Nitria !  For  God  and  the  mother  of 
God,  monks  of  Nitria !  Down  with  the  Jewish 
slanderers !  Down  with  heathen  tyrants  !  "  —  And 
the  mob,  reinforced  as  if  by  magic  by  hundreds 
from  without,  swept  down  the  huge  vaulted  pass- 
age, carrying  Philammon  and  the  porter  with 
them. 

"  My  friends,"  quoth  the  little  man,  trying  to 
look  philosophically  calm,  though  he  was  fairly  off 
his  legs,  and  hanging  between  heaven  and  earth 
on  the  elbows  of  the  bystanders,  "  whence  this 
tumult?" 

"  The  Jews  got  up  a  cry  that  Hierax  wanted 
to  raise  a  riot.  Curse  them  and  their  sabbath, 
they  are  always  rioting  on  Saturdays  about  this 
dancer  of  theirs,  instead  of  working  like  honest 
Christians ! " 

"  And  rioting  on  Sunday  instead.  Ahem  !  sec- 
tarian differences,  which  the  philosopher " 

The  rest  of  the  sentence  disappeared  with  the 
speaker,  as  a  sudden  opening  of  the  mob  let  him 
drop,  and  buried  him  under  innumerable  legs. 

Philammon,  furious  at  the  notion  of  persecution, 
maddened  by  the  cries  around  him,  found  himself 
bursting  fiercely  through  the  crowd,  till  he  reached 
the  front  ranks,  where  tall  gates  of  open  ironwork 


A  Day  in  Alexandria  93 

barred  all  further  progress,  but  left  a  full  view  of 
the  tragedy  which  was  enacting  within,  where  the 
poor  innocent  wretch,  suspended  from  a  gibbet, 
writhed  and  shrieked  at  every  stroke  of  the  hide 
whips  of  his  tormentors. 

In  vain  Philammon  and  the  monks  around  him 
knocked  and  beat  at  the  gates ;  they  were  only  an- 
swered by  laughter  and  taunts  from  the  apparitors 
within,  curses  on  the  turbulent  mob  of  Alexandria, 
with  its  patriarch,  clergy,  saints,  and  churches,  and 
promises  to  each  and  all  outside,  that  their  turn 
would  come  next;  while  the  piteous  screams  grew 
fainter  and  more  faint,  and  at  last,  with  a  convul- 
sive shudder,  motion  and  suffering  ceased  for  ever 
in  the  poor  mangled  body. 

"  They  have  killed  him  !  Martyred  him !  Back 
to  the  archbishop  !  To  the  patriarch's  house :  he 
will  avenge  us !  "  And  as  the  horrible  news,  and 
the  watchword  which  followed  it,  passed  outwards 
through  the  crowd,  they  wheeled  round  as  one 
man,  and  poured  through  street  after  street  to- 
wards Cyril's  house;  while  Philammon,  beside 
himself  with  horror,  rage,  and  pity,  hurried  onward 
with  them. 

A  tumultuous  hour,  or  more,  was  passed  in  the 
street,  before  he  could  gain  entrance ;  and  then  he 
was  swept,  along  with  the  mob  in  which  he  had 
been  fast  wedged,  through  a  dark  low  passage,  and 
landed  breathless  in  a  quadrangle  of  mean  and  new 
buildings,  overhung  by  the  four  hundred  stately 
columns  of  the  ruined  Serapeium.  The  grass  was 
already  growing  on  the  ruined  capitals  and  archi- 
traves. .  .  .  Little  did  even  its  destroyers  dream 
then,  that  the  day  would  come  when  one  only  of 
that  four  hundred  would  be  left,  as  "  Pompey's 


94  Hypatia 

Pillar,"  to  show  what  the  men  of  old  could  think 
and  do. 

Philammon  at  last  escaped  from  the  crowd,  and 
putting  the  letter  which  he  had  carried  in  his 
bosom  into  the  hands  of  one  of  the  priests  who  was 
mixing  with  the  mob,  was  beckoned  by  him  into  a 
corridor,  and  up  a  flight  of  stairs,  and  into  a  large, 
low,  mean  room,  and  there,  by  virtue  of  the  world- 
wide freemasonry  which  Christianity  had,  for  the 
first  time  on  earth,  established,  found  himself  in 
five  minutes  awaiting  the  summons  of  the  most 
powerful  man  south  of  the  Mediterranean. 

A  curtain  hung  across  the  door  of  the  inner 
chamber,  through  which  Philammon  could  hear 
plainly  the  steps  of  some  one  walking  up  and 
down  hurriedly  and  fiercely. 

"  They  will  drive  me  to  it !  "  at  last  burst  out  a 
deep  sonorous  voice.  "They  will  drive  me  to 
it.  ...  Their  blood  be  on  their  own  head !  It  is 
not  enough  for  them  to  blaspheme  God  and  His 
church,  to  have  the  monopoly  of  all  the  cheating, 
fortune-telling,  usury,  sorcery,  and  coining  of  the 
city,  but  they  must  deliver  my  clergy  into  the 
hands  of  the  tyrant?" 

"  It  was  so  even  in  the  apostles'  time,"  suggested 
a  softer,  but  far  more  unpleasant  voice. 

"  Then  it  shall  be  so  no  longer !  God  has  given 
me  the  power  to  stop  them;  and  God  do  so  to 
me,  and  more  also,  if  I  do  not  use  that  power. 
To-morrow  I  sweep  out  this  Augean  stable  of 
villany,  and  leave  not  a  Jew  to  blaspheme  and 
cheat  in  Alexandria." 

"  I  am  afraid  such  a  judgment,  however  righteous, 
might  offend  his  excellency." 

"  His   excellency !      His  tyranny !     Why   does 


A  Day  in  Alexandria  95 

Orestes  truckle  to  these  circumcised,  but  because 
they  lend  money  to  him  and  to  his  creatures  ?  He 
would  keep  up  a  den  of  fiends  in  Alexandria  if 
they  would  do  as  much  for  him !  And  then  to 
play  them  off  against  me  and  mine,  to  bring  reli- 
gion into  contempt  by  setting  the  mob  together  by 
the  ears,  and  to  end  with  outrages  like  this !  Sedi- 
tious !  Have  they  not  cause  enough?  The  sooner 
I  remove  one  of  their  temptations,  the  better :  let 
the  other  tempter  beware,  lest  his  judgment  be  at 
hand !  " 

" The  prefect,  your  holiness?"  asked  the  other 
voice,  slily. 

"Who  spoke  of  the  prefect?  Whosoever  is  a 
tyrant,  and  a  murderer,  and  an  oppressor  of  the 
poor,  and  a  favorer  of  the  philosophy  which  de- 
spises and  enslaves  the  poor,  should  not  he  perish, 
though  he  be  seven  times  a  prefect !  " 

At  this  juncture  Philammon,  thinking  perhaps 
that  he  had  already  heard  too  much,  notified  his 
presence  by  some  slight  noise,  at  which  the  secre- 
tary, as  he  seemed  to  be,  hastily  lifted  the  curtain, 
and  somewhat  sharply  demanded  his  business. 
The  names  of  Pambo  and  Arsenius,  however, 
seemed  to  pacify  him  at  once ;  and  the  trembling 
youth  was  ushered  into  the  presence  of  him  who  in 
reality,  though  not  in  name,  sat  on  the  throne  of 
the  Pharaohs. 

Not,  indeed,  in  their  outward  pomp ;  the  furni- 
ture of  the  chamber  was  but  a  grade  above  that  of 
the  artisan's;  the  dress  of  the  great  man  was 
coarse  and  simple ;  if  personal  vanity  peeped  out 
anywhere,  it  was  in  the  careful  arrangement  of  the 
bushy  beard,  and  of  the  few  curling  locks  which 
the  tonsure  had  spared.  But  the  height  and 


96  Hypatia 

majesty  of  his  figure,  the  stern  and  massive  beauty 
of  his  features,  the  flashing  eye,  curling  lip,  and 
projecting  brow  —  all  marked  him  as  one  born  to 
command.  As  the  youth  entered,  Cyril  stopped 
short  in  his  walk,  and  looking  him  through  and 
through,  with  a  glance  which  burnt  upon  his 
cheeks  like  fire,  and  made  him  all  but  wish  the 
kindly  earth  would  open  and  hide  him,  took  the 
letters,  read  them,  and  then  began : 

"  Philammon.  A  Greek.  You  are  said  to  have 
learned  to  obey.  If  so  you  have  also  learned  to 
rule.  Your  father-abbot  has  transferred  you  to  my 
tutelage.  You  are  now  to  obey  me." 

"And  I  will." 

"  Well  said.  Go  to  that  window,  then,  and  leap 
into  the  court." 

Philammon  walked  to  it,  and  opened  it.  The 
pavement  was  fully  twenty  feet  below;  but  his 
business  was  to  obey,  and  not  take  measurements. 
There  was  a  flower  in  a  vase  upon  the  sill.  He 
quietly  removed  it,  and  in  an  instant  more  would 
have  leapt  for  life  or  death,  when  Cyril's  voice 
thundered  "  Stop  !  " 

"The  lad  will  pass,  my  Peter.  I  shall  not  be 
afraid,  now,  for  the  secrets  which  he  may  have 
overheard." 

Peter  smiled  assent,  looking  all  the  while  as  if 
he  thought  it  a  great  pity  that  the  young  man  had 
not  been  allowed  to  put  talebearing  out  of  his  own 
power  by  breaking  his,  neck. 

"  You  wish  to  see  the  world.  Perhaps  you  have 
seen  something  of  it  to-day." 

"  I  saw  the  murder " 

"  Then  you  saw  what  you  came  hither  to  see ; 
what  the  world  is,  and  what  justice  and  mercy  it 


A  Day  in  Alexandria  97 

can  deal  out.  You  would  not  dislike  to  see  God's 
reprisals  to  man's  tyranny?  ...  Or  to  be  a  fellow- 
worker  with  God  therein,  if  I  judge  rightly  by 
your  looks  ? " 

"  I  would  avenge  that  man." 

"  Ah  !  my  poor  simple  schoolmaster  !  And  his 
fate  is  the  portent  of  portents  to  you  now !  Stay 
awhile,  till  you  have  gone  with  Ezekiel  into  the 
inner  chambers  of  the  devil's  temple,  and  you  will 
see  worse  things  than  these  —  women  weeping  for 
Thammuz;  bemoaning  the  decay  of  an  idolatry 
which  they  themselves  disbelieve  —  That,  too,  is 
on  the  list  of  Hercules'  labor,  Peter  mine." 

At  this  moment  a  deacon  entered.  ..."  Your 
holiness,  the  rabbis  of  the  accursed  nation  are 
below,  at  your  summons.  We  brought  them  in 
through  the  back  gate,  for  fear  of " 

"  Right,  right.  An  accident  to  them  might  have 
ruined  us.  I  shall  not  forget  you.  Bring  them 
up.  Peter,  take  this  youth,  introduce  him  to  the 
parabolani.  .  .  .  Who  will  be  the  best  man  for  him 
to  work  under?" 

"  The  brother  Theopompus  is  especially  sober 
and  gentle." 

Cyril  shook  his  head  laughingly.  ..."  Go  into 
the  next  room,  my  son.  .  .  .  No,  Peter,  put  him 
under  some  fiery  saint,  some  true  Boanerges,  who 
will  talk  him  down,  and  work  him  to  death,  and  • 
show  him  the  best  and  worst  of  everything.  Cleit- 
ophon  will  be  the  man.  Now  then,  let  me  see  my 
engagements ;  five  minutes  for  these  Jews — Orestes 
did  not  choose  to  frighten  them :  let  us  see  whether 
Cyril  cannot ;  then  an  hour  to  look  over  the  hos- 
pital accounts;  an  hour  for  the  schools;  a  half- 
hour  for  the  reserved  cases  of  distress ;  and  an- 

F— Vol.  VI 


98  Hypatia 

other  half-hour  for  myself;  and  then  divine  service. 
See  that  the  boy  is  there.  Do  bring  in  every  one 
in  their  turn,  Peter  mine.  So  much  time  goes  in 
hunting  for  this  man  and  that  man  .  .  .  and  life  is 
too  short  for  all  that.  Where  are  these  Jews  ?  " 
and  Cyril  plunged  into  the  latter  half  of  his  day's 
work  with  that  untiring  energy,  self-sacrifice  and 
method,  which  commanded  for  him,  in  spite  of  all 
suspicions  of  his  violence,  ambition,  and  intrigue, 
the  loving  awe  and  implicit  obedience  of  several 
hundred  thousand  human  beings. 

So  Philammon  went  out  with  the  parabolani,  a 
sort  of  organized  guild  of  district  visitors.  .  .  .  And 
in  their  company  he  saw  that  afternoon  the  dark 
side  of  that  world,  whereof  the  harbor-panorama 
had  been  the  bright  one.  In  squalid  misery,  filth, 
profligacy,  ignorance,  ferocity,  discontent,  neglected 
in  body,  house,  and  soul,  by  the  civil  authorities, 
proving  their  existence  only  in  aimless  and  san- 
guinary riots,  there  they  starved  and  rotted,  heap 
on  heap,  the  masses  of  the  old  Greek  population, 
close  to  the  great  food-exporting  harbor  of  the 
world.  Among  these,  fiercely  perhaps,  and  fana- 
tically, but  still  among  them  and  for  them,  labored 
those  district  visitors  night  and  day.  And  so 
Philammon  toiled  away  with  them,  carrying  food 
and  clothing,  helping  sick  to  the  hospital,  anjd 
dead  to  the  burial :  cleaning  out  the  infected 
houses  —  for  the  fever  was  all  but  perennial  in 
those  quarters  —  and  comforting  the  dying  with 
the  good  news  of  forgiveness  from  above ;  till  the 
larger  number  had  to  return  to  evening  service. 
He,  however,  was  kept  by  his  superior,  watching 
at  a  sick-bedside,  and  it  was  late  at  night  before  he 
got  home,  and  was  reported  to  Peter  the  Reader 


A  Day  in  Alexandria  99 

as  having  acquitted  himself  like  "  a  man  of  God," 
as,  indeed,  without  the  least  thought  of  doing  any- 
thing noble  or  self-sacrificing,  he  had  truly  done, 
being  a  monk.  And  so  he  threw  himself  on  a 
truckle  bed,  in  one  of  the  many  cells  which  opened 
off  a  long  corridor,  and  fell  fast  asleep  in  a 
minute. 

He  was  just  weltering  about  in  a  dreary  dream- 
jumble  of  Goths  dancing  with  district  visitors, 
Pelagia  as  an  angel,  with  peacock's  wfngs ;  Hypatia 
with  horns  and  cloven  feet,  riding  three  hippo- 
potami at  once  round  the  theatre ;  Cyril  standing 
at  an  open  window,  cursing  frightfully,  and  pelting 
him  with  flower-pots ;  and  a  similar  self-sown  after- 
crop of  his  day's  impression ;  when  he  -was  awak- 
ened by  the  tramp  of  hurried  feet  in  the  street 
outside,  and  shouts,  which  gradually,  as  he  became 
conscious,  shaped  themselves  into  cries  of  "  Alex- 
ander's Church  is  on  fire  !  Help,  good  Christians ! 
Fire  !  Help  !  " 

Whereat  he  sat  up  in  his  truckle-bed,  tried  to 
recollect  where  he  was,  and  having  with  some 
trouble  succeeded,  threw  on  his  sheepskin,  and 
jumped  up  to  ask  the  news  from  the  deacons  and 
monks  who  were  hurrying  along  the  corridor  out- 
side. "  Yes,  Alexander's  church  was  on  fire ;  " 
and  down  the  stairs  they  poured,  across  the  court- 
yard, and  out  into  the  street,  Peter's  tall  figure 
serving  as  a  standard  and  a  rallying  point. 

As  they  rushed  out  through  the  gateway,  Phil- 
ammon,  dazzled  by  the  sudden  transition  from  the 
darkness  within  to  the  blaze  of  moon  and  starlight 
which  flooded  the  street,  and  walls,  and  shining 
roofs,  hung  back  a  moment.  That  hesitation 
probably  saved  his  life ;  for  in  an  instant  he  saw  a 


i  oo  Hypatia 

dark  figure  spring  out  of  the  shadow,  a  long  knife 
flashed  across  his  eyes,  and  a  priest  next  to  him 
sank  upon  the  pavement  with  a  groan,  while  the 
assassin  dashed  off  down  the  street,  hotly  pursued 
by  monks  and  parabolani. 

Philammon,  who  ran  like  a  desert  ostrich,  had 
soon  outstripped  all  but  Peter,  when  several  more 
dark  figures  sprang  out  of  doorways  and  corners, 
and  joined,  or  seemed  to  join,  the  pursuit.  Sud- 
denly, however,  after  running  a  hundred  yards, 
they  drew  up  opposite  the  mouth  of  a  side  street; 
the  assassin  stopped  also.  Peter,  suspecting  some- 
thing wrong,  slackened  his  pace,  and  caught  Phil- 
ammon's  arm. 

"Do  you  see  those  fellows  in  the  shadow?" 

But,  before  Philammon  could  answer,  some 
thirty  or  forty  men,  their  daggers  gleaming  in  the 
moonlight,  moved  out  into  the  middle  of  the 
street,  and  received  the  fugitives  into  their  ranks. 
What  was  the  meaning  of  it?  Here  was  a  pleasant 
taste  of  the  ways  of  the  most  Christian  and  civilized 
city  of  the  Empire  ! 

"  Well,"  thought  Philammon,  "  I  have  come  out 
to  see  the  world,  and  I  seem,  at  this  rate,  to  be 
likely  to  see  enough  of  it." 

Peter  turned  at  once,  and  fled  as  quickly  as  he 
had  pursued;  while  Philammon,  considering  dis- 
cretion the  better  part  of  valor,  followed,  and  they 
rejoined  their  party  breathless. 

"There  is  an  armed  mob  at  the  end  of  the 
street." 

"  Assassins !  "  "  Jews  !  "  "A  conspiracy !  "  Up 
rose  a  Babel  of  doubtful  voices.  The  foe  appeared 
in  sight,  advancing  stealthily,  and  the  whole  party 
took  to  flight,  led  once  more  by  Peter,  who  seemed 


A  Day  in  Alexandria  101 

determined  to  make  free  use,  in  behalf  of  his  own 
safety,  of  the  long  legs  which  nature  had  given 
him. 

Philammon  followed,  sulkily  and  unwillingly,  at 
a  foot's  pace ;  but  he  had  not  gone  a  dozen  yards 
when  a  pitiable  voice  at  his  feet  called  to  him : 

"  Help  !  mercy !  Do  not  leave  me  here  to  be 
murdered !  I  am  a  Christian ;  indeed  I  am  a 
Christian !  " 

Philammon  stooped,  and  lifted  from  the  ground 
a  comely  negro-woman,  weeping,  and  shivering  in 
a  few  tattered  remnants  of  clothing. 

"  I  ran  out  when  they  said  the  church  was  on 
fire,"  sobbed  the  poor  creature,  "  and  the  Jews 
beat  and  wounded  me.  They  tore  my  shawl  and 
tunic  off  me  before  I  could  get  away  from  them ; 
and  then  our  own  people  ran  over  me  and  trod  me 
down.  And  now  my  husband  will  beat  me,  if  I 
ever  get  home.  Quick  1  up  this  side  street,  or  we 
shall  be  murdered  !  " 

The  armed  men,  whosoever  they  were,  were 
close  on  them.  There  was  no  time  to  be  lost ;  and 
Philammon,  assuring  her  that  he  would  not  desert 
her,  hurried  her  up  the  side  street  which  she 
pointed  out.  But  the  pursuers  had  caught  sight  of 
them,  and  while  the  mass  held  on  up  the  main 
street,  three  or  four  turned  aside  and  gave  chase. 
The  poor  negress  could  only  limp  along,  and 
Philammon,  unarmed,  looked  back,  and  saw  the 
bright  steel  points  gleaming  in  the  moonlight,  and 
made  up  his  mind  to  die  as  a  monk  should. 
Nevertheless,  youth  is  hopeful.  One  chance  for 
life.  He  thrust  the  negress  into  a  dark  doorway, 
where  her  color  hid  her  well  enough,  and  had  just 
time  to  ensconce  himself  behind  a  pillar,  when  the 


102  Hypatia 

foremost  pursuer  reached  him.  He  held  his 
breath  in  fearful  suspense.  Should  he  be  seen? 
He  would  not  die  without  a  struggle  at  least.  No  ! 
the  fellow  ran  on,  panting.  But  in  a  minute  more, 
another  came  up,  saw  him  suddenly,  and  sprang 
aside  startled.  That  start  saved  Philammon. 
Quick  as  a  cat,  he  leapt  upon  him,  felled  him  to 
the  earth  with  a  single  blow,  tore  the  dagger  from 
his  hand,  and  sprang  to  his  feet  again  just  in  time 
to  strike  his  new  weapon  full  into  the  third  pur- 
suer's face.  The  man  put  his  hand  to  his  head, 
and  recoiled  against  a  fellow-ruffian,  who  was  close 
on  his  heels.  Philammon,  flushed  with  victory, 
took  advantage  of  the  confusion,  and  before  the 
worthy  pair  could  recover,  dealt  them  half-a- 
dozen  blows  which,  luckily  for  them,  came  from  an 
unpractised  hand,  or  the  young  monk  might  have 
had  more  than  one  life  to  answer  for.  As  it  was, 
they  turned  and  limped  off,  cursing  in  an  unknown 
tongue ;  and  Philammon  found  himself  triumphant 
and  alone,  with  the  trembling  negress  and  the 
prostrate  ruffian,  who,  stunned  by  the  blow  and 
the  fall,  lay  groaning  on  the  pavement. 

It  was  all  over  in  a  minute.  .  .  .  The  negress  was 
kneeling  under  the  gateway,  pouring  out  her 
simple  thanks  to  Heaven  for  this  unexpected 
deliverance;  and  Philammon  was  about  to  kneel 
too,  when  a  thought  struck  him;  and  coolly 
despoiling  the  Jew  of  his  shawl  and  sash,  he  handed 
them  over  to  the  poor  negress,  considering  them 
fairly  enough  as  his  own  by  right  of  conquest ;  but, 
lo  and  behold !  as  she  was  overwhelming  him  with 
thanks,  a  fresh  mob  poured  into  the  street  from 
the  upper  end,  and  were  close  on  them  before 
they  were  aware.  ...  A  flush  of  terror  and  despair, 


A  Day  in  Alexandria  103 

,  .  .  and  then  a  burst  of  joy,  as,  by  mingled  moon- 
light and  torchlight,  Philammon  descried  priestly 
robes,  and  in  the  forefront  of  the  battle  —  there 
being  no  apparent  danger  —  Peter  the  Reader, 
who  seemed  to  be  anxious  to  prevent  inquiry,  by 
beginning  to  talk  as  fast  as  possible. 

"Ah,  boy!  Safe?  The  saints  be  praised  !  We 
gave  you  up  for  dead !  Whom  have  you  here  ? 
A  prisoner?  And  we  have  another.  He  ran  right 
into  our  arms  up  the  street,  and  the  Lord  delivered 
him  into  our  hand.  He  must  have  passed  you." 

"  So  he  did,"  said  Philammon,  dragging  up 
his  captive,  "and  here  is  his  fellow-scoundrel." 
Whereon  the  two  worthies  were  speedily  tied  to- 
gether by  the  elbows ;  and  the  party  marched  on 
once  more  in  search  of  Alexander's  church,  and 
the  supposed  conflagration. 

Philammon  looked  round  for  the  negress,  but 
she  had  vanished.  He  was  far  too  much  ashamed 
of  being  known  to  have  been  alone  with  a  woman 
to  say  anything  about  her.  Yet  he  longed  to  see 
her  again;  an  interest  —  even  something  like  an 
affection  —  had  already  sprung  up  in  his  heart 
toward  the  poor  simple  creature  whom  he  had 
delivered  from  death.  Instead  of  thinking  her 
ungrateful  for  not  staying  to  tell  what  he  had  done 
for  her,  he  was  thankful  to  her  for  having  saved  his 
blushes,  by  disappearing  so  opportunely.  .  .  .  And 
he  longed  to  tell  her  so  —  to  know  if  she  was  hurt 

—  to Oh,  Philammon !  only  four  days  from 

the  Laura,  and  a  whole  regiment  of  women 
acquaintances  already !  True,  Providence  having 
sent  into  the  world  about  as  many  women  as  men, 
it  may  be  difficult  to  keep  out  of  their  way  alto- 
gether. Perhaps,  too,  Providence  may  have  in- 


1 04  Hypatia 

tended  them  to  be  of  some  use  to  that  other  sex, 
with  whom  it  has  so  mixed  them  up.  Don't  argue, 
poor  Philammon ;  Alexander's  church  is  on  fire ! 
—  forward ! 

And  so  they  hurried  on,  a  confused  mass  of 
monks  and  populace,  with  their  hapless  prisoners 
in  the  center,  who  hauled,  cuffed,  questioned,  and 
cursed  by  twenty  self -elected  inquisitors  at  once, 
thought  fit,  either  from  Jewish  obstinacy,  or  sheer 
bewilderment,  to  give  no  account  whatsoever  of 
themselves. 

As  they  turned  the  corner  of  a  street,  the  folding- 
doors  of  a  large  gateway  rolled  open ;  a  long  lane 
of  glittering  figures  poured  across  the  road, 
dropped  their  spear-butts  on  the  pavement  with  a 
single  rattle,  and  remained  motionless.  The  front 
rank  of  the  mob  recoiled ;  and  an  awe-struck  whis- 
per ran  through  them.  .  .  .  "The  Stationaries !  " 

"Who  are  they?"  asked  Philammon,  in  a 
whisper. 

"The  soldiers  —  the  Roman  soldiers,"  answered 
a  whisperer  to  him. 

Philammon,  who  was  among  the  leaders,  had 
recoiled  too  —  he  hardly  knew  why  —  at  that  stern 
apparition.  His  next  instinct  was  to  press  forward 
as  close  as  he  dared.  .  .  .  And  these  were  Roman 
soldiers  !  —  the  conquerors  of  the  world  !  —  the 
men  whose  name  had  thrilled  him  from  his  child- 
hood with  vague  awe  and  admiration,  dimly  heard 
of  up  there  in  the  lonely  Laura.  .  .  .  Roman 
soldiers  !  And  here  he  was  face  to  face  with  them 
at  last! 

His  curiosity  received  a  sudden  check,  however, 
as  he  found  his  arm  seized  by  an  officer,  as  he 
took  him  to  be,  from  the  gold  ornaments  on  his 


A  Day  in  Alexandria  105 

helmet  and  cuirass,  who  lifted  his  vine-stock 
threateningly  over  the  young  monk's  head,  and 
demanded : 

"What's  all  this  about?  Why  are  you  not 
quietly  in  your  beds,  you  Alexandrian  rascals  ?  " 

"  Alexander's  church  is  on  fire,"  answered  Phit- 
ammon,  thinking  the  shortest  answer  the  wisest. 

"  So  much  the  better." 

"  And  the  Jews  are  murdering  the  Christians." 

"  Fight  it  out,  then.  Turn  in,  men,  it 's  only  a 
riot." 

And  the  steel-clad  apparition  suddenly  flashed 
round,  and  vanished,  trampling  and  jingling,  into 
the  dark  jaws  of  the  guardhouse-gate,  while  the 
stream,  its  temporary  barrier  removed,  rushed  on 
wilder  than  ever. 

Philammon  hurried  on  too  with  them,  not  with- 
out a  strange  feeling  of  disappointment.  "  Only  a 
riot !  "  Peter  was  chuckling  to  his  brothers  over 
their  cleverness  in  "  having  kept  the  prisoners  in 
the  middle,  and  stopped  the  rascals'  mouths  till 
they  were  past  the  guardhouse."  "A  fine  thing 
to  boast  of,"  thought  Philammon,  "  in  the  face 
of  the  men  who  make  and  unmake  kings  and 
Caesars  !  "  "  Only  a  riot !  "  He,  and  the  corps  of 
district  visitors  —  whom  he  fancied  the  most  august 
body  on  earth  —  and  Alexander's  church,  Chris- 
tians murdered  by  Jews,  persecution  of  the  Catholic 
faith,  and  all  the  rest  of  it,  was  simply,  then,  not 
worth  the  notice  of  those  forty  men,  alone  and 
secure  in  the  sense  of  power  and  discipline, 
among  tens  of  thousands.  .  .  .  He  hated  them, 
those  soldiers.  Was  it  because  they  were  indiffer- 
ent to  the  cause  of  which  he  was  inclined  to 
think  himself  a  not  unimportant  member,  on  the 


1 06  Hypatia 

strength  of  his  late  Samsonic  defeat  of  Jewish 
persecutors?  At  least,  he  obeyed  the  little  por- 
ter's advice,  and  "  felt  very  small  indeed." 

And  he  felt  smaller  still,  being  young  and  alive 
to  ridicule,  when,  at  some  sudden  ebb  or  flow, 
wave  or  wavelet  of  the  Babel  sea,  which  weltered 
up  and  down  every  street,  a  shrill  female  voice 
informed  them  from  an  upper  window,  that  Alex- 
ander's church  was  not  on  fire  at  all ;  that  she  had 
gone  to  the  top  of  the  house,  as  they  might  have 
gone,  if  they  had  not  been  fools,  etc.  etc.;  and 
that  it  "  looked  as  safe  and  as  ugly  as  ever ;  " 
wherewith  a  brickbat  or  two  having  been  sent  up 
in  answer,  she  shut  the  blinds,  leaving  them  to  halt, 
inquire,  discover  gradually  and  piecemeal,  after  the 
method  of  mobs,  they  had  been  following  the 
nature  of  mobs ;  that  no  one  had  seen  the  church 
on  fire,  or  seen  any  one  else  who  had  seen  the 
the  same,  or  even  seen  any  light  in  the  sky  in  any 
quarter,  or  knew  who  raised  the  cry;  or  —  or  — 
in  short,  Alexander's  church  was  two  miles  off; 
if  it  was  on  fire,  it  was  either  burnt  down  or  saved 
by  this  time ;  if  not,  the  night-air  was,  to  say  the 
least,  chilly:  and,  whether  it  was  or  not,  there 
were  ambuscades  of  Jews  —  Satan  only  knew  how 
strong — in  every  street  between  them  and  it.  ... 
Might  it  not  be  better  to  secure  their  two  prison- 
ers, and  then  ask  for  further  orders  from  the  arch- 
bishop? Wherewith,  after  the  manner  of  mobs, 
they  melted  off  the  way  they  came,  by  twos  and 
threes,  till  those  of  a  contrary  opinion  began  to  find 
themselves  left  alone,  and  having  a  strong  dislike 
to  Jewish  daggers,  were  fain  to  follow  the  stream. 

With  a  panic  or  two,  a  cry  of  "  The  Jews  are  on 
us  1 "  and  a  general  rush  in  every  direction  (in 


A  Day  in  Alexandria  107 

which  one  or  two,  seeking  shelter  from  the  awful 
nothing  in  neighboring  houses,  were  handed  over 
to  the  watch  as  burglars,  and  sent  to  the  quarries 
accordingly),  they  reached  the  Serapeium,  and 
there  found,  of  course,  a  counter  mob  collected 
to  inform  them  that  they  had  been  taken  in  —  that 
Alexander's  church  had  never  been  on  fire  at  all 

—  that  the  Jews  had  murdered  a  thousand  Chris- 
tians at  least,  though  three  dead  bodies,  includ- 
ing the  poor  priest  who  lay  in  the  house  within, 
were  all  of  the  thousand  who  had  yet  been  seen 

—  and  that  the  whole  Jews'  quarter  was  marching 
upon   them.     At  which   news   it  was  considered 
advisable  to   retreat  into  the   archbishop's   house 
as  quickly  as   possible,  barricade  the  doors,  and 
prepare  for  a  siege  —  a  work  at  which  Philammon 
performed  prodigies,  tearing  woodwork  from  the 
rooms,   and   stones  from  the   parapets,  before  it 
struck  some  of  the  more  sober-minded  that  it  was  as 
well  to  wait  for  some  more  decided  demonstration 
of  attack,  before  incurring  so  heavy  a  carpenter's 
bill  of  repairs. 

At  last  the  heavy  tramp  of  footsteps  was  heard 
coming  down  the  street,  and  every  window  was 
crowded  in  an  instant  with  eager  heads;  while 
Peter  rushed  downstairs  to  heat  the  large  coppers, 
having  some  experience  in  the  defensive  virtues  of 
boiling  water.  The  bright  moon  glittered  on  a  long 
line  of  helmets  and  cuirasses.  Thank  Heaven !  it 
was  the  soldiery. 

"  Are  the  Jews  coming?"  "  Is  the  city  quiet?" 
"Why  did  not  you  prevent  this  villany?"  "A 
thousand  citizens  murdered  while  you  have  been 
snoring !  "  —  and  a  volley  of  similar  ejaculations, 
greeted  the  soldiers  as  they  passed,  and  were  an- 


io8  Hypatia 

swered  by  a  cool:  "To  your  perches,  and  sleep, 
you  noisy  chickens,  or  we  '11  set  the  coop  on  fire 
about  your  ears." 

A  yell  of  defiance  answered  this  polite  speech, 
and  the  soldiery,  who  knew  perfectly  well  that  the 
unarmed  ecclesiastics  within  were  not  to  be  trifled 
with,  and  had  no  ambition  to  die  by  coping-stones 
and  hot  water,  went  quietly  on  their  way. 

All  danger  was  now  past ;  and  the  cackling  rose 
jubilant,  louder  than  ever,  and  might  have  contin- 
ued till  daylight,  had  not  a  window  in  the  court- 
yard been  suddenly  thrown  open,  and  the  awful 
voice  of  Cyril  commanded  silence. 

"  Every  man  sleep  where  he  can.  I  shall  want 
you  at  daybreak.  The  superiors  of  the  parabolani 
are  to  come  up  to  me  with  the  two  prisoners,  and 
the  men  who  took  them.  " 

In  a  few  minutes  Philammon  found  himself,  with 
some  twenty  others,  in  the  great  man's  presence: 
he  was  sitting  at  his  desk,  writing,  quietly,  small 
notes  on  slips  of  paper. 

"  Here  is  the  youth  who  helped  me  to  pursue 
the  murderer,  and  having  outrun  me,  was  attacked 
by  the  prisoners,"  said  Peter.  "  My  hands  are 
clean  from  blood,  I  thank  the  Lord ! " 

"  Three  set  on  me  with  daggers,"  said  Philammon, 
apologetically,  "  and  I  was  forced  to  take  this  one's 
dagger  away,  and  beat  off  the  two  others  with  it." 

Cyril  smiled,  and  shook  his  head. 

"  Thou  art  a  brave  boy ;  but  hast  thou  not  read, 
'  If  a  man  smite  thee  on  one  cheek,  turn  to  him 
the  other'?" 

"  I  could  not  run  away,  as  Master  Peter  and  the 
rest  did." 

"  So  you  ran  away,  eh?  my  worthy  friend?" 


A  Day  in  Alexandria  109 

*'  Is  it  not  written,"  asked  Peter,  in  his  blandest 
tone,  " '  If  they  persecute  you  in  one  city,  flee 
unto  another  '  ?  " 

Cyril  smiled  again.  "  And  why  could  not  you 
run  away,  boy?" 

Philammon  blushed  scarlet,  but  he  dared  not  lie. 
"  There  was  a  —  a  poor  black  woman,  wounded 
and  trodden  down,  and  I  dare  not  leave  her,  for 
she  told  me  she  was  a  Christian." 

"  Right,  my  son,  right.  I  shall  remember  this. 
What  was  her  name  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  hear  it.  —  Stay,  I  think  she  said 
Judith." 

"  Ah !  the  wife  of  the  porter  who  stands  at  the 
lecture-room  door,  which  God  confound !  A  de- 
vout woman,  full  of  good  works,  and  sorely  ill- 
treated  by  her  heathen  husband.  Peter,  thou  shalt 
go  to  her  to-morrow  with  the  physician,  and  see  if 
she  is  in  need  of  anything.  Boy,  thou  hast  done 
well.  Cyril  never  forgets.  Now  bring  up  those 
Jews.  Their  Rabbis  were  with  me  two  hours  ago 
promising  peace :  and  this  is  the  way  they  have 
kept  their  promise.  So  be  it.  The  wicked  is 
snared  in  his  own  wickedness." 

The  Jews  were  brought  in,  but  kept  a  stubborn 
silence. 

"  Your  holiness  perceives,"  said  some  one,  "  that 
they  have  each  of  them  rings  of  green  palm-bark 
on  their  right  hand." 

"  A  very  dangerous  sign !  An  evident  conspir- 
acy !  "  commented  Peter. 

"  Ah  ?  What  does  that  mean,  you  rascals  ?  An- 
swer me,  as  you  value  your  lives." 

"  You  have  no  business  with  us :  we  are  Jews, 
and  none  of  your  people, "  said  one,  sulkily. 


no  Hypatia 

"  None  of  my  people?  You  have  murdered  my 
people !  None  of  my  people  ?  Every  soul  in 
Alexandria  is  mine,  if  the  kingdom  of  God  means 
anything;  and  you  shall  find  it  out.  I  shall  not 
argue  with  you,  my  good  friends,  any  more  than  I 
did  with  your  Rabbis.  Take  these  fellows  away, 
Peter,  and  lock  them  up  in  the  fuel-cellar,  and  see 
that  they  are  guarded.  If  any  man  lets  them  go, 
his  life  shall  be  for  the  life  of  them. " 

And  the  two  worthies  were  led  out. 

"  Now,  my  brothers,  here  are  your  orders.  You 
will  divide  these  notes  among  yourselves,  and  dis- 
tribute them  to  trusty  and  godly  catholics  in  your 
districts.  Wait  one  hour,  till  the  city  be  quiet; 
and  then  start,  and  raise  the  church.  I  must 
have  thirty  thousand  men  by  sunrise." 

"  What  for,  your  holiness  ? "  asked  a  dozen 
voice." 

"  Read  your  notes.  Whosoever  will  fight  to- 
morrow under  the  banner  of  the  Lord,  shall  have 
free  plunder  of  the  Jews'  quarter,  outrage  and 
murder  only  forbidden.  As  I  have  said  it,  God 
do  so  to  me,  and  more  also,  if  there  be  a  Jew  left 
in  Alexandria  by  to-morrow  at  noon.  Go." 

And  the  staff  of  orderlies  filed  out,  thanking 
Heaven  that  they  had  a  leader  so  prompt  and  val- 
iant, and  spent  the  next  hour  over  the  hall  fire, 
eating  millet  cakes,  drinking  bad  beer,  likening 
Cyril  to  Barak,  Gideon,  Samson,  Jephtha,  Judas 
Maccabeus,  and  all  the  worthies  of  the  Old  Testa- 
ment, and  then  started  on  their  pacific  errand. 

Philammon  was  about  to  follow  them,  when 
Cyril  stopped  him. 

"  Stay,  my  son ;  you  are  young  and  rash,  and 
do  not  know  the  city.  Lie  down  here  and  sleep 


A  Day  in  Alexandria  in 

in  the  anteroom.  Three  hours  hence  the  sun  rises, 
and  we  go  forth  against  the  enemies  of  the  Lord." 

Philammon  threw  himself  on  the  floor  in  a  cor- 
ner, and  slumbered  like  a  child,  till  he  was  awak- 
ened in  the  gray  dawn  by  one  of  the  parabolani. 

"  Up,  boy  !  and  see  what  we  can  do.  Cyril  goes 
down  greater  than  Barak  the  son  of  Abinoam,  not 
with  ten,  but  with  thirty  thousand  men  at  his 
feet!" 

"  Ay,  my  brothers ! "  said  Cyril,  as  he  passed 
proudly  out  in  full  pontificals,  with  a  gorgeous 
retinue  of  priests  and  deacons :  "  the  Catholic 
Church  has  her  organization,  her  unity,  her  com- 
mon cause,  her  watchwords,  such  as  the  tyrants  of 
the  earth,  in  their  weakness  and  their  divisions, 
may  envy  and  tremble  at,  but  cannot  imitate. 
Could  Orestes  raise,  in  three  hours,  thirty  thousand 
men,  who  would  die  for  him?" 

"  As  we  will  for  you  !  "  shouted  many  voices. 

"  Say  for  the  kingdom  of  God.  "  And  he  passed 
out. 

And  so  ended  Philammon's  first  day  in  Alex- 
andria. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  NEW  DIOGENES 

ABOUT  five  o'clock  the  next  morning,  Raphael 
Aben-Ezra  was  lying  in  bed,  alternately 
yawning  over  a  manuscript  of  Philo  Judaeus,  pulling 
the  ears  of  his  huge  British  mastiff,  watching  the 
sparkle  of  the  fountain  in  the  court  outside,  won- 
dering when  that  lazy  boy  would  come  to  tell 
him  that  the  bath  was  warmed,  and  meditating, 
half  aloud.  .  .  . 

"  Alas  !  poor  me  !  Here  I  am,  back  again  — 
just  at  the  point  from  which  I  started !  .  .  .  How 
am  I  to  get  free  from  that  heathen  Siren  ?  Plagues 
on  her !  I  shall  end  by  falling  in  love  with  her. 
...  I  don't  know  that  I  have  not  got  a  barb  of 
the  blind  boy  in  me  already.  I  felt  absurdly  glad 
the  other  day  when  that  fool  told  me  he  dare  not 
accept  her  modest  offer.  Ha !  ha !  A  delicious 
joke  it  would  have  been  to  have  seen  Orestes  bow- 
ing down  to  stocks  and  stones,  and  Hypatia  in- 
stalled in  the  ruins  of  the  Serapeium,  as  High 
Priestess  of  the  Abomination  of  Desolation !  .  .  . 
And  now  .  .  .  Well:  I  call  all  heaven  and  earth 
to  witness,  that  I  have  fought  valiantly.  I  have 
faced  naughty  little  Eros  like  a  man,  rod  in  hand. 
What  could  a  poor  human  being  do  more  than  try 
to  marry  her  to  some  one  else,  in  hopes  of  sicken- 
ing himself  of  the  whole  matter?  Well,  every 
moth  has  its  candle,  and  every  man  his  destiny. 


The  New  Diogenes  1 1 3 

But  the  daring  of  the  little  fool  I  What  huge 
imaginations  she  has !  She  might  be  another 
Zenobia,  now,  with  Orestes  as  Odenatus,  and 
Raphael  Aben-Ezra  to  play  the  part  of  Longinus 
.  .  .  and  receive  Longinus's  salary  of  axe  or 
poison.  She  don't  care  for  me;  she  would  sacri- 
fice me,  or  a  thousand  of  me,  the  cold-blooded 
fanatical  archangel  that  she  is,  to  water  with  our 
blood  the  foundation  of  some  new  temple  of  cast 
rags  and  broken  dolls  .  .  .  Oh,  Raphael  Aben- 
Ezra,  what  a  fool  you  are !  .  .  .  You  know  you 
are  going  off  as  usual  to  her  lecture,  this  very 
morning !  " 

At  this  crisis  of  his  confessions  the  page  entered, 
and  announced,  not  the  bath,  but  Miriam. 

The  old  woman,  who,  in  virtue  of  her  profes- 
sion, had  the  private  entry  of  all  fashionable 
chambers  in  Alexandria,  came  in  hurriedly;  and 
instead  of  seating  herself  as  usual,  for  a  gossip, 
remained  standing,  and  motioned  the  boy  out  of 
the  room. 

"Well,  my  sweet  mother?  Sit:  Ah?  I  see! 
You  rascal,  you  have  brought  in  no  wine  for  the 
lady.  Don't  you  know  her  little  ways  yet  ?  " 

"  Eos  has  got  it  at  the  door,  of  course,"  answered 
the  boy,  with  a  saucy  air  of  offended  virtue. 

"  Out  with  you,  imp  of  Satan !  "  cried  Miriam. 
"  This  is  no  time  for  winebibbing.  Raphael  Aben- 
Ezra,  why  are  you  lying  here  ?  Did  you  not  re- 
ceive a  note  last  night?" 

"A  note?  So  I  did,  but  I  was  too  sleepy  to 
read  it.  There  it  lies.  Boy,  bring  it  here.  .  .  . 
What's  this?  A  scrap  out  of  Jeremiah?  'Arise, 
and  flee  for  thy  life,  for  evil  is  determined  against 
the  whole  house  of  Israel ! '  —  Does  this  come 


H4  Hypatia 

from  the  chief  rabbi  ?  I  always  took  the  venerable 
father  for  a  sober  man.  .  .  .  Eh,  Miriam?" 

"  Fool !  instead  of  laughing  at  the  sacred  words 
of  the  prophets,  get  up  and  obey  them.  I  sent 
you  the  note." 

"  Why  can't  I  obey  them  in  bed  !  Here  I  am, 
reading  hard  at  the  Cabbala  or  Philo  —  who  is 
stupider  still  —  and  what  more  would  you  have !  " 

The  old  woman,  unable  to  restrain  her  impatience, 
literally  ran  at  him,  gnashing  her  teeth,  and,  before 
he  was  aware,  dragged  him  out  of  bed  upon  the 
floor,  where  he  stood  meekly  wondering  what 
would  come  next. 

"  Many  thanks,  mother,  for  having  saved  me  the 
one  daily  torture  of  life  —  getting  out  of  bed  by 
one's  own  exertion." 

"  Raphael  Aben-Ezra !  are  you  so  besotted  with 
your  philosophy  and  your  heathenry,  and  your 
laziness,  and  your  contempt  for  God  and  man,  that 
you  will  see  your  nation  given  up  for  a  prey,  and 
your  wealth  plundered  by  heathen  dogs?  I  tell 
you,  Cyril  has  sworn  that  God  shall  do  so  to  him, 
and  more  also,  if  there  be  a  Jew  left  in  Alexandria 
by  to-morrow  about  this  time." 

"  So  much  the  better  for  the  Jews,  then,  if  they 
are  half  as  tired  of  this  noisy  Pandemonium  as  I 
am.  But  how  can  I  help  it?  Am  I  Queen  Esther, 
to  go  to  Ahasuerus  there  in  the  prefect's  palace, 
and  get  him  to  hold  out  the  golden  sceptre  to 
me?" 

"  Fool !  if  you  had  read  that  note  last  night,  you 
might  have  gone  and  saved  us,  and  your  name 
would  have  been  handed  down  for  ever  from 
generation  to  generation  as  a  second  Mordecai." 

"  My  dear  mother,  Ahasuerus  would  have  been 


The  New  Diogenes  115 

either  fast  asleep,  or  far  too  drunk  to  listen  to  me. 
Why  did  you  not  go  yourself?  " 

"  Do  you  suppose  that  I  would  not  have  gone  if 
I  could  ?  Do  you  fancy  me  a  sluggard  like  your- 
self? At  the  risk  of  my  life  I  have  got  hither  in 
time,  if  there  be  time  to  save  you." 

"Well :  shall  I  dress?     What  can  be  done  now?" 

"  Nothing !  The  streets  are  blockaded  by  Cyril's 
mob  — There  !  do  you  hear  the  shouts  and  screams? 
They  are  attacking  the  further  part  of  the  quarter 
already." 

"  What !  are  they  murdering  them  ? "  asked 
Raphael,  throwing  on  his  pelisse.  "  Because,  if  it 
has  really  come  to  a  practical  joke  of  that  kind, 
I  shall  have  the  greatest  pleasure  in  employing 
a  counter-irritant.  Here,  boy!  My  sword  and 
dagger  !  Quick !  " 

"  No,  the  hypocrites  !  No  blood  is  to  be  shed, 
they  say,  if  we  make  no  resistance,  and  let  them 
pillage.  Cyril  and  his  monks  are  there,  to  prevent 
outrage,  and  so  forth.  .  .  .  The  Angel  of  the  Lord 
scatter  them !  " 

The  conversation  was  interruped  by  the  rushing 
in  of  the  whole  household,  in  an  agony  of  terror ; 
and  Raphael,  at  last  thoroughly  roused,  went  to  a 
window  which  looked  into  the  street.  The  thor- 
oughfare was  full  of  scolding  women  and  screaming 
children ;  while  men,  old  and  young,  looked  on  at 
the  plunder  of  their  property  with  true  Jewish 
doggedness,  too  prudent  to  resist,  but  too  manful 
to  complain;  while  furniture  came  flying  out  of 
every  window,  and  from  door  after  door  poured  a 
stream  of  rascality,  carrying  off  money,  jewels, 
silks,  and  all  the  treasures  which  Jewish  usury 
had  accumulated  during  many  a  generation.  But 


1 1 6  Hypatia 

unmoved  amid  the  roaring  sea  of  plunderers  and 
plundered,  stood,  scattered  up  and  down,  Cyril's 
spiritual  police,  enforcing,  by  a  word,  an  obedience 
which  the  Roman  soldiers  could  only  have  com- 
pelled by  hard  blows  of  the  spear-butt.  There 
was  to  be  no  outrage,  and  no  outrage  there  was; 
and  more  than  once  some  man  in  priestly  robes 
hurried  through  the  crowd,  leading  by  the  hand, 
tenderly  enough,  a  lost  child  in  search  of  its 
parents. 

Raphael  stood  watching  silently,  while  Miriam, 
who  had  followed  him  upstairs,  paced  the  room  in 
an  ecstasy  of  rage,  calling  vainly  to  him  to  speak 
or  act. 

"  Let  me  alone,  mother, "  he  said,  at  last.  "  It 
will  be  full  ten  minutes  more  before  they  pay  me 
a  visit,  and  in  the  mean  time  what  can  one  do 
better  than  watch  the  progress  of  this,  the  little 
Exodus?" 

"  Not  like  that  first  one !  Then  we  went  forth 
with  cymbals  and  songs  to  the  Red  Sea  triumph ! 
Then  we  borrowed,  every  woman  of  her  neigh- 
bor, jewels  of  silver,  and  jewels  of  gold,  and 
raiment. " 

"  And  now  we  pay  them  back  again ;  ...  it  is 
but  fair,  after  all.  We  ought  to  have  listened  to 
Jeremiah  a  thousand  years  ago,  and  never  gone 
back  again,  like  fools,  into  a  country  to  which  we 
were  so  deeply  in  debt.  " 

"  Accursed  land  !  "  cried  Miriam.  "  In  an  evil 
hour  our  forefathers  disobeyed  the  prophet;  and 
now  we  reap  the  harvest  of  our  sins!  —  Our  sons 
have  forgotten  the  faith  of  their  forefathers  for  the 
philosophy  of  the  Gentiles,  and  fill  their  cham- 
bers "  (with  a  contemptuous  look  round)  "  with 


The  New  Diogenes  1 1 7 

heathern  imagery;  and  our  daughters  are — Look 
there !  " 

As  she  spoke,  a  beautiful  girl  rushed  shrieking 
out  of  an  adjoining  house,  followed  by  some  half- 
drunk  ruffian,  who  was  clutching  at  the  gold  chains 
and  trinkets  with  which  she  was  profusely  be- 
decked, after  the  fashion  of  Jewish  women.  The 
rascal  had  just  seized  with  one  hand  her  streaming 
black  tresses,  and  with  the  other  a  heavy  collar  of 
gold,  which  was  wound  round  her  throat,  when  a 
priest,  stepping  up,  laid  a  quiet  hand  upon  his 
shoulder.  The  fellow,  too  maddened  to  obey, 
turned,  and  struck  back  the  restraining  arm  .  .  . 
and  in  an  instant  was  felled  to  the  earth  by  a 
young  monk.  .  .  . 

"  Touchest  thou  the  Lord's  anointed,  sacrilegious 
wretch  ?  "  cried  the  man  of  the  desert,  as  the  fellow 
dropped  on  the  pavement,  with  his  booty  in  his 
hand. 

The  monk  tore  the  gold  necklace  from  his  grasp, 
looked  at  it  for  a  moment  with  childish  wonder,  as 
a  savage  might  at  some  incomprehensible  product 
of  civilized  industry,  and  then,  spitting  on  it  in  con- 
tempt, dashed  it  on  the  ground,  and  trampled  it 
into  the  mud. 

"  Follow  the  golden  wedge  of  Achan,  and  the 
silver  of  Iscariot,  thou  root  of  all  evil !  "  And  he 
rushed  on,  yelling,  "  Down  with  the  circumcision  ! 
Down  with  the  blasphemers  !  "  —  while  the  poor 
girl  vanished  among  the  crowd. 

Raphael  watched  him  with  a  quaint  thoughtful 
smile,  while  Miriam  shrieked  aloud  at  the  destruc- 
tion of  the  precious  trumpery. 

"The  monk  is  right,  mother.  If  those  Chris- 
tians go  on  upon  that  method,  they  must  beat  us. 


1 1 8  Hypatia 

It  has  been  our  ruin  from  the  first,  our  fancy  for 
loading  ourselves  with  the  thick  clay." 

"What  will  you  do?"  cried  Miriam,  clutching 
him  by  the  arm. 

"  What  will  you  do  ?  " 

"  I  am  safe.  I  have  a  boat  waiting  for  me  on 
the  canal  at  the  garden  gate,  and  in  Alexandria  I 
stay;  no  Christian  hound  shall  make  old  Miriam 
move  a  foot  against  her  will.  My  jewels  are  all 
buried — my  girls  are  sold ;  save  what  you  can,  and 
come  with  me  !  " 

"  My  sweet  mother,  why  so  peculiarly  solicitous 
about  my  welfare,  above  that  of  all  the  sons  of 
Judah?" 

"  Because  —  because  —  No,  I  '11  tell  you  that 
another  time.  But  I  loved  your  mother,  and  she 
loved  me.  Come  !  " 

Raphael  relapsed  into  silence  for  a  few  minutes, 
and  watched  the  tumult  below. 

"  How  those  Christian  priests  keep  their  men  in 
order !  There  is  no  use  resisting  destiny.  They 
are  the  strong  men  of  the  time,  after  all,  and  the 
little  Exodus  must  needs  have  its  course.  Miriam, 
daughter  of  Jonathan " 

"  I  am  no  man's  daughter !     I  have  neither  father 

nor  mother,   husband    nor Call    me   mother 

again !  " 

"  Whatsoever  I  am  to  call  you,  there  are  jewels 
enough  in  that  closet  to  buy  half  Alexandria. 
Take  them.  I  am  going. " 

"With  me?" 

"  Out  into  the  wide  world,  my  dear  lady.  I  am 
bored  with  riches.  That  young  savage  of  a  monk 
understood  them  better  than  we  Jews  do.  I  shall 
just  make  a  virtue  of  necessity,  and  turn  beggar. " 


The  New  Diogenes  119 

"Beggar?" 

"Why  not?  Don't  argue.  These  scoundrels 
will  make  me  one,  whether  I  like  or  not ;  so  forth 
I  go.  There  will  be  few  leave-takings.  This  brute 
of  a  dog  is  the  only  friend  I  have  on  earth ;  and  I 
love  her,  because  she  has  the  true  old,  dogged, 
spiteful,  cunning,  obstinate  Maccabee  spirit  in 
her  —  of  which  if  we  had  a  spark  left  in  us  just 
now,  there  would  be  no  little  Exodus;  eh,  Bran, 
my  beauty  ?  " 

"  You  can  escape  with  me  to  the  prefect's,  and 
save  the  mass  of  your  wealth." 

"  Exactly  what  I  don't  want  to  do.  I  hate  that 
prefect  as  I  hate  a  dead  camel,  or  the  vulture  who 
eats  him.  And  to  tell  the  truth,  I  am  growing  a 
great  deal  too  fond  of  that  heathen  woman 
there " 

"  What?  "  shrieked  the  old  woman—"  Hypatia?" 

"  If  you  choose.  At  all  events,  the  easiest  way 
to  cut  the  knot  is  to  expatriate.  I  shall  beg  my 
passage  on  board  the  first  ship  to  Cyrene,  and  go 
and  study  life  in  Italy  with  Heraclian's  expedition. 
Quick  —  take  the  jewels,  and  breed  fresh  troubles 
for  yourself  with  them.  I  am  going.  My  liberators 
are  battering  the  outer  door  already." 

Miriam  greedily  tore  out  of  the  closet  diamonds 
and  pearls,  rubies  and  emeralds,  and  concealed 
them  among  her  ample  robes :  "  Go !  go  !  Es- 
cape from  her  !  I  will  hide  your  jewels  !  " 

"  Ay,  hide  them,  as  mother  earth  does  all  things, 
in  that  all-embracing  bosom.  You  will  have 
doubled  them  before  we  meet  again,  no  doubt. 
Farewell,  mother !  " 

"  But  not  for  ever,  Raphael !  not  for  ever ! 
Promise  me,  in  the  name  of  the  four  archangels, 


120  Hypatia 

that  if  you  are  in  trouble  or  danger,  you  will  write 
to  me,  at  the  house  of  Eudaimon." 

"  The  little  porter  philosopher,  who  hangs  about 
Hypatia's  lecture-room  ?  " 

"The  same,  the  same.  He  will  give  me  your 
letter,  and  I  swear  to  you,  I  will  cross  the  moun- 
tains of  Kaf,  to  deliver  you  !  —  I  will  pay  you  all 
back.  By  Abraham,  Isaac,  and  Jacob  I  swear! 
May  my  tongue  cleave  to  the  roof  of  my  mouth, 
if  I  do  not  account  to  you  for  the  last  penny  !  " 

"Don't  commit  yourself  to  rash  promises,  my 
dear  lady.  If  I  am  bored  with  poverty,  I  can 
but  borrow  a  few  gold  pieces  of  a  rabbi,  and  turn 
pedler.  I  really  do  not  trust  you  to  pay  me  back, 
so  I  shall  not  be  disappointed  if  you  do  not.  Why 
should  I?" 

"  Because  —  because  —  Oh,  God  !  No  —  never 
mind  !  You  shall  have  all  back.  Spirit  of  Elias ! 
where  is  the  black  agate  ?  Why  is  it  not  among 
these?  —  The  broken  half  of  the  black  agate 
talisman ! " 

Raphael  turned  pale.  "  How  did  you  know  that 
I  have  a  black  agate  ?  " 

"  How  did  I  ?  How  did  I  not  ?  "  cried  she,  clutch- 
ing him  by  the  arm.  "  Where  is  it?  All  depends 
on  that !  Fool !  "  she  went  on,  throwing  him  off 
from  her  at  arm's  length,  as  a  sudden  suspicion 
stung  her  —  "  you  have  not  given  it  to  the  heathen 
woman  ?  " 

"  By  the  soul  of  my  fathers,  then,  you  mysterious 
old  witch,  who  seem  to  know  everything,  that  is 
exactly  what  I  have  done." 

Miriam  clapped  her  hands  together  wildly. 
"  Lost !  lost !  lost !  No !  I  will  have  it,  if  I  tear 
it  out  of  her  heart !  I  will  be  avenged  of  her  — 


The  New  Diogenes  121 

the  strange  woman  who  flatters  with  her  words,  to 
whom  the  simple  go  in,  and  know  not  that  the 
dead  are  there,  and  that  her  guests  are  in  the 
depths  of  hell !  God  do  so  to  me,  and  more  also, 
if  she  and  her  sorceries  be  on  earth  a  twelvemonth 
hence ! " 

"  Silence,  Jezebel !  Heathen  or  none,  she  is  as 
pure  as  the  sunlight !  I  only  gave  it  her  because 
she  fancied  the  talisman  upon  it." 

"  To  enchant  you  with  it,  to  your  ruin  !  " 

"  Brute  of  a  slave-dealer !  you  fancy  every  one 
as  base  as  the  poor  wretches  whom  you  buy  and 
sell  to  shame,  that  you  may  make  them  as  much 
the  children  of  hell,  if  that  be  possible,  as  your- 
self! " 

Miriam  looked  at  him,  her  large  black  eyes  widen- 
ing and  kindling.  For  an  instant  she  felt  for  her 
poniard  —  and  then  burst  into  an  agony  of  tears, 
hid  her  face  in  her  withered  hands,  and  rushed 
from  the  room,  as  a  crash  and  shout  below  an- 
nounced the  bursting  of  the  door. 

"There  she  goes  with  my  jewels.  And  here 
come  my  guests,  with  the  young  monk  at  their 
head.  —  One  rising  when  the  other  sets.  A  worthy 
pair  of  Dioscuri !  Come,  Bran  !  .  .  .  Boys !  Slaves ! 
Where  are  you  ?  Steal  every  one  what  he  can  lay 
his  hands  on,  and  run  for  your  lives  through  the 
back  gate." 

The  slaves  had  obeyed  him  already.  He  walked 
smiling  down  stairs  through  utter  solitude,  and  in 
the  front  passage,  met  face  to  face  the  mob  of 
monks,  costermongers  and  dock-workers,  fish- 
wives and  beggars,  who  were  thronging  up  the 
narrow  entry,  and  bursting  into  the  doors  right 
and  left ;  and  at  their  head,  alas !  the  young  monk 

G— Vol.  VI 


122  Hypatia 

who  had  just  trampled  the  necklace  into  the  mud 
...  no  other,  in  fact,  than  Philammon. 

"  Welcome,  my  worthy  guests  !  Enter,  I  beseech 
you,  and  fulfil,  in  your  own  peculiar  way,  the  pre- 
cepts which  bid  you  not  be  over  anxious  for  the 
good  things  of  this  life.  .  .  .  For  eating  and  drink- 
ing, my  kitchen  and  cellar  are  at  your  service.  For 
clothing,  if  any  illustrious  personage  will  do  me  the 
honor  to  change  his  holy  rags  with  me,  here  are 
an  Indian  shawl-pelisse  and  a  pair  of  silk  trousers 
at  his  service.  Perhaps  you  will  accommodate  me, 
my  handsome  young  captain,  choragus  of  this  new 
school  of  the  prophets?" 

Philammon,  who  was  the  person  addressed,  tried 
to  push  by  him  contemptuously. 

"  Allow  me,  sir.  I  lead  the  way.  This  dagger 
is  poisoned,  —  a  scratch  and  you  are  dead.  This 
dog  is  of  the  true  British  breed ;  if  she  seizes  you, 
red-hot  iron  will  not  loose  her,  till  she  hears  the 
bone  crack.  If  any  one  will  change  clothes  with 
me,  all  I  have  is  at  your  service.  If  not,  the  first 
that  stirs  is  a  dead  man." 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  quiet,  high-bred 
determination  of  the  speaker.  Had  he  raged  and 
blustered,  Philammon  could  have  met  him  on  his 
own  ground  :  but  there  was  an  easy  self-possessed 
disdain  about  him,  which  utterly  abashed  the  young 
monk,  and  abashed,  too,  the  whole  crowd  of  rascals 
at  his  heels. 

"  I  '11  change  clothes  with  you,  you  Jewish  dog !  " 
roared  a  dirty  fellow  out  of  the  mob. 

"  I  am  your  eternal  debtor.  Let  us  step  into 
this  side  room.  Walk  up  stairs,  my  friends.  Take 
care  there,  sir !  —  That  porcelain,  whole,  is  worth 
three  thousand  gold  pieces ;  broken,  it  is  not  worth 


The  New  Diogenes  123 

three  pence.  I  leave  it  to  your  good  sense  to  treat 
it  accordingly.  Now  then,  my  friend !  "  And  in 
the  midst  of  the  raging  vortex  of  plunderers,  who 
were  snatching  up  everything  which  they  could 
carry  away,  and  breaking  everything  which  they 
could  not,  he  quietly  divested  himself  of  his  finery, 
and  put  on  the  ragged  cotton  tunic,  and  battered 
straw  hat,  which  the  fellow  handed  over  to  him. 

Philammon,  who  had  had  from  the  first  no  mind 
to  plunder,  stood  watching  Raphael  with  dumb 
wonder;  and  a  shudder  of  regret,  he  knew  not 
why,  passed  through  him,  as  he  saw  the  mob  tear- 
ing down  pictures,  and  dashing  statues  to  the 
ground.  Heathen  they  were,  doubtless ;  but  still, 
the  Nymphs  and  Venuses  looked  too  lovely  to  be 
so  brutally  destroyed.  .  .  .  There  was  something 
almost  humanly  pitiful  in  their  poor  broken  arms 
and  legs,  as  they  lay  about  upon  the  pavement. 
.  .  .  He  laughed  at  himself  for  the  notion;  but 
he  could  not  laugh  it  away. 

Raphael  seemed  to  think  that  he  ought  not  to 
laugh  it  away;  for  he  pointed  to  the  fragments, 
and  with  a  quaint  look  at  the  young  monk 

"  Our  nurses  used  to  tell  us, 

" '  If  you  can't  make  it, 

You  ought  not  to  break  it.' " 

"  I  had  no  nurse,"  said   Philammon. 

"  Ah !  —  that  accounts  —  for  this  and  other 
things.  Well,"  he  went  on,  with  the  most  provok- 
ing good-nature,  "  you  are  in  a  fair  road,  my 
handsome  youth ;  I  wish  you  joy  of  your  fellow- 
workmen,  and  of  your  apprenticeship  in  the  noble 
art  of  monkery.  Riot  and  pillage,  shrieking  women 
and  houseless  children  in  your  twentieth  summer, 


1 24  Hypatia 

are  the  sure  path  to  a  saintship,  such  as  Paul  of 
Tarsus,  who,  with  all  his  eccentricities,  was  a  gentle- 
man, certainly  never  contemplated.  I  have  heard 
of  Phoebus  Apollo  under  many  disguises,  but  this 
is  the  first  time  I  ever  saw  him  in  the  wolf's  hide." 

"  Or  in  the  lion's,"  said  Philammon,  trying  in  his 
shame  to  make  a  fine  speech. 

"  Like  the  Ass  in  the  Fable.  Farewell !  Stand 
out  of  the  way,  friends  !  'Ware  teeth  and  poison  !  " 

And  he  disappeared  among  the  crowd,  who 
made  way  respectfully  enough  for  his  dagger  and 
his  brindled  companion. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THOSE  BY  WHOM   OFFENCES   COME 

PHILAMMON'S  heart  smote  him  all  that  day, 
whenever  he  thought  of  his  morning's  work. 
Till  then  all  Christians,  monks  above  all,  had  been 
infallible  in  his  eyes :  all  Jews  and  heathens  insane 
and  accursed.  Moreover,  meekness  under  insult, 
fortitude  in  calamity,  the  contempt  of  worldly  com- 
fort, the  worship  of  poverty  as  a  noble  estate, 
were  virtues  which  the  Church  Catholic  boasted  as 
her  peculiar  heritage:  on  which  side  had  the 
balance  of  those  qualities  inclined  that  morning? 
The  figure  of  Raphael,  stalking  out  ragged  and 
penniless  into  the  wide  world,  haunted  him,  with 
its  quiet  self-assured  smile.  And  there  haunted 
him,  too,  another  peculiarity  in  the  man,  which  he 
had  never  before  remarked  in  any  one  but  Arsenius 
—  that  ease  and  grace,  that  courtesy  and  self- 
restraint,  which  made  Raphael's  rebukes  rankle  all 
the  more  keenly,  because  he  felt  that  the  rebuker 
was  in  some  mysterious  way  superior  to  him, 
and  saw  through  him,  and  could  have  won  him 
over,  or  crushed  him  in  argument,  or  in  intrigue  — 
or  in  anything,  perhaps,  except  mere  brute  force. 
Strange  —  that  Raphael,  of  all  men,  should  in 
those  few  moments  have  reminded  him  so  much  of 
Arsenius ;  and  that  the  very  same  qualities  which 
gave  a  peculiar  charm  to  the  latter  should  give  a 
peculiar  unloveliness  to  the  former,  and  yet  be, 


1 26  Hypatia 

without  a  doubt,  the  same.  What  was  it?  Was  it 
rank  which  gave  it?  Arsenius  had  been  a  great 
man,  he  knew  —  the  companion  of  kings.  And 
Raphael  seemed  rich.  He  had  heard  the  mob 
crying  out  against  the  prefect  for  favoring  him. 
Was  it  then  familiarity  with  the  great  ones  of  the 
world  which  produced  this  manner  and  tone?  It 
was  a  real  strength,  whether  in  Arsenius  or  in 
Raphael.  He  felt  humbled  before  it  —  envied  it. 
If  it  made  Arsenius  a  more  complete  and  more 
captivating  person,  why  should  it  not  do  the  same 
for  him  ?  Why  should  not  he,  too,  have  his  share 
of  it? 

Bringing  with  it  such  thoughts  as  these,  the  time 
ran  on  till  noon,  and  the  midday  meal,  and  the 
afternoon's  work,  to  which  Philammon  looked  for- 
ward joyfully,  as  a  refuge  from  his  own  thoughts. 

He  was  sitting  on  his  sheepskin  upon  a  step, 
basking,  like  a  true  son  of  the  desert,  in  a  blaze  of 
fiery  sunshine,  which  made  the  black  stonework 
too  hot  to  touch  with  the  bare  hand,  watching  the 
swallows,  as  they  threaded  the  columns  of  the 
Serapeium,  and  thinking  how  often  he  had  de- 
lighted in  their  air-dance,  as  they  turned  and 
hawked  up  and  down  the  dear  old  glen  at  Scetis. 
A  crowd  of  citizens  with  causes,  appeals,  and 
petitions,  were  passing  in  and  out  from  the  patri- 
arch's audience-room.  Peter  and  the  archdeacon 
were  waiting  in  the  shade  close  by,  for  the  gather- 
ing of  the  parabolani,  and  talking  over  the  morn- 
ing's work  in  an  earnest  whisper,  in  which  the 
names  of  Hypatia  and  Orestes  were  now  and  then 
audible. 

An  old  priest  came  up,  and  bowing  reverently 
enough  to  the  archdeacon,  requested  the  help  of 


Those  by  whom  Offences  Come     127 

one  of  the  parabolani.  He  had  a  sailor's  family, 
all  fever-stricken,  who  must  be  removed  to  the 
hospital  at  once. 

The  archdeacon  looked  at  him,  answered  an  off- 
hafcid  "  Very  well,"  and  went  on  with  his  talk. 

The  priest,  bowing  lower  than  before,  repre- 
sented the  immediate  necessity  for  help. 

"  It  is  very  odd,"  said  Peter  to  the  swallows  in 
the  Serapeium,  "  that  some  people  cannot  obtain 
influence  enough  in  their  own  parishes  to  get  the 
simplest  good  works  performed  without  torment- 
ing his  holiness  the  patriarch." 

The  old  priest  mumbled  some  sort  of  excuse, 
and  the  archdeacon,  without  deigning  a  second 
look  at  him,  said :  "  Find  him  a  man,  brother 
Peter.  Anybody  will  do.  What  is  that  boy  — 
Philammon  —  doing  there  ?  Let  him  go  with 
Master  Hieracas." 

Peter  seemed  not  to  receive  the  proposition 
favorably,  and  whispered  something  to  the  arch- 
deacon. .  .  . 

"  No.  I  can  spare  none  of  the  rest.  Importu- 
nate persons  must  take  their  chance  of  being  well 
served.  Come  —  here  are  our  brethren ;  we  will 
all  go  together." 

"  The  further  together  the  better  for  the  boy's 
sake,"  grumbled  Peter,  loud  enough  for  Philam- 
mon —  perhaps  for  the  old  priest  —  to  overhear 
him. 

So  Philammon  went  out  with  them,  and  as  he 
went  questioned  his  companions  meekly  enough, 
as  to  who  Raphael  was. 

"  A  friend  of  Hypatia !  "  —  that  name,  too, 
haunted  him ;  and  he  began,  as  stealthily  and  in- 
directly as  he  could,  to  obtain  information  about 


128  Hypatia 

her.  There  was  no  need  for  his  caution ;  for  the 
very  mention  of  her  name  roused  the  whole  party 
into  a  fury  of  execration. 

"  May  God  confound  her,  siren,  enchantress, 
dealer  in  spells  and  sorceries !  She  is  the  strange 
woman  of  whom  Solomon  prophesied." 

"  It  is  my  opinion,"  said  another,  "  that  she  is 
the  forerunner  of  Antichrist." 

"  Perhaps  the  virgin  of  whom  it  is  prophesied 
that  he  will  be  born,"  suggested  another. 

"  Not  that,  I  '11  warrant  her,"  said  Peter,  with  a 
savage  sneer. 

"  And  is  Raphael  Aben-Ezra  her  pupil  in  phil- 
osophy?" asked  Philammon. 

"  Her  pupil  in  whatsoever  she  can  find  where- 
with to  delude  men's  souls,"  said  the  old  priest. 
11  The  reality  of  philosophy  has  died  long  ago,  but 
the  great  ones  find  it  still  worth  their  while  to  wor- 
ship its  shadow." 

"  Some  of  them  worship  more  than  a  shadow, 
when  they  haunt  her  house,"  said  Peter.  "  Do 
you  think  Orestes  goes  thither  only  for  phil- 
osophy?" 

"  We  must  not  judge  harsh  judgments,"  said  the 
old  priest;  "  Synesius  of  Cyrene  is  a  holy  man, 
and  yet  he  loves  Hypatia  well." 

"He  a  holy  man?  —  and  keeps  a  wife!  One 
who  had  the  insolence  to  tell  the  blessed  Theophi- 
lus  himself  that  he  would  not  be  made  bishop 
unless  he  were  allowed  to  remain  with  her;  and 
despised  the  gift  of  the  Holy  Ghost  in  comparison 
of  the  carnal  joys  of  wedlock,  not  knowing  the 
Scriptures,  which  saith  that  those  who  are  in  the 
flesh  cannot  please  God  !  Well  said  Siricius  of 
Rome  of  such  men :  '  Can  the  Holy  Spirit  of 


Those  by  whom  Offences  Come     129 

God  dwell  in  other  than  holy  bodies?  '  No  wonder 
that  such  a  one  as  Synesius  grovels  at  the  feet  of 
Orestes'  mistress !  " 

"Then  she  is  profligate?  "  asked  Philammon. 

"  She  must  be.  Has  a  heathen  faith  and  grace? 
And  without  faith  and  grace,  are  not  all  our  right- 
eousnesses as  filthy  rags  ?  What  says  Saint  Paul  ? 
—  That  God  has  given  them  over  to  a  reprobate 
mind,  full  of  all  injustice,  uncleanness,  covetous- 
ness,  maliciousness,  you  know  the  catalogue  — 
why  do  you  ask  me  ?  " 

"  Alas  !    and  is  she  this  ?  " 

"Alas!  And  why  alas?  How  would  the  Gos- 
pel be  glorified  if  heathens  were  holier  than 
Christians?  It  ought  to  be  so,  therefore  it  is  so. 
If  she  seems  to  have  virtues,  they,  being  done 
without  the  grace  of  Christ,  are  only  bedizened 
vices,  cunning  shams,  the  devil  transformed  into 
an  angel  of  light.  And  as  for  chastity,  the  flower 
and  crown  of  all  virtues  —  whosoever  says  that  she, 
being  yet  a  heathen,  has  that,  blasphemes  the 
Holy  Spirit,  whose  peculiar  and  highest  gift  it  is, 
and  is  anathema  maranatha  for  ever !  Amen !  " 
And  Peter,  devoutly  crossing  himself,  turned 
angrily  and  contemptuously  away  from  his  young 
companion. 

Philammon  was  quite  shrewd  enough  to  see 
that  assertion  was  not  identical  with  proof.  But 
Peter's  argument  of  "  it  ought  to  be,  therefore  it 
is,"  is  one  which  saves  a  great  deal  of  trouble  .  .  . 
and  no  doubt  he  had  very  good  sources  of  infor- 
mation. So  Philammon  walked  on,  sad,  he  knew 
not  why,  at  the  new  notion  which  he  had  formed 
of  Hypatia,  as  a  sort  of  awful  sorceress-Messalina, 
whose  den  was  foul  with  magic  rites  and  ruined 


130  Hypatia 

souls  of  men.  And  yet  if  that  was  all  she  had  to 
teach,  whence  had  her  pupil  Raphael  learned  that 
fortitude  of  his?  If  philosophy  had,  as  they  said, 
utterly  died  out,  then  what  was  Raphael  ? 

Just  then,  Peter  and  the  rest  turned  up  a  side 
street,  and  Philammon  and  Hieracas  were  left  to 
go  on  their  joint  errand  together.  They  paced  on 
for  some  way  in  silence,  up  one  street  and  down 
another,  till  Philammon,  for  want  of  anything  bet- 
ter to  say,  asked  where  they  were  going. 

"Where  I  choose,  at  all  events.  No,  young 
man !  If  I,  a  priest,  am  to  be  insulted  by  arch- 
deacons and  readers,  I  won't  be  insulted  by  you." 

"  I  assure  you  I  meant  no  harm." 

"  Of  course  not ;  you  all  learn  the  same  trick, 
and  the  young  ones  catch  it  of  the  old  ones  fast 
enough.  Words  smoother  than  butter,  yet  very 
swords." 

"  You  do  not  mean  to  complain  of  the  archdeacon 
and  his  companions?"  said  Philammon,  who  of 
course  was  boiling  over  with  pugnacious  respect 
for  the  body  to  which  he  belonged. 

No  answer. 

"  Why,  sir,  are  they  not  among  the  most  holy 
and  devoted  of  men  ?  " 

"  Ah  —  yes,"  said  his  companion,  in  a  tone  which 
sounded  very  like  "  Ah  —  no." 

"  You  do  not  think  so  ? "  asked  Philammon, 
bluntly. 

"  You  are  young,  you  are  young.  Wait  a  while 
till  you  have  seen  as  much  as  I  have.  A  degenerate 
age  this,  my  son ;  not  like  the  good  old  times,  when 
men  dare  suffer  and  die  for  the  faith.  We  are  too 
prosperous  nowadays ;  and  fine  ladies  walk  about 
with  Magdalens  embroidered  on  their  silks,  and 


Those  by  whom  Offences  Come     1 3 1 

gospels  hanging  round  their  necks.  When  I  was 
young,  they  died  for  that  with  which  they  now 
bedizen  themselves." 

"  But  I  was  speaking  of  the  parabolani." 

"  Ah,  there  are  a  great  many  among  them  who 
have  not  much  business  where  they  are.  Don't  say 
I  said  so.  But  many  a  rich  man  puts  his  name  on 
the  list  of  the  guild  just  to  get  his  exemption  from 
taxes,  and  leaves  the  work  to  poor  men  like  you. 
Rotten,  rotten !  my  son,  and  you  will  find  it  out. 
The  preachers,  now  —  people  used  to  say  —  I  know 
Abbot  Isidore  did  —  that  I  had  as  good  a  gift  for 
expounding  as  any  man  in  Pelusium ;  but  since  I 
came  here,  eleven  years  since,  if  you  will  believe  it, 
I  have  never  been  asked  to  preach  in  my  own  parish 
church." 

"  You  surely  jest !  " 

"  True,  as  I  am  a  christened  man.  I  know  why 
—  I  know  why :  they  are  afraid  of  Isidore's  men 
here.  .  .  .  Perhaps  they  may  have  caught  the  holy 
man's  trick  of  plain  speaking  —  and  ears  are  dainty 
in  Alexandria.  And  there  are  some  in  these  parts, 
too,  that  have  never  forgiven  him  the  part  he  took 
about  those  three  villains,  Maro,  Zosimus,  and  Mar- 
tinian,  and  a  certain  letter  that  came  of  it ;  or  another 
letter  either,  which  we  know  of,  about  taking  alms  for 
the  church  from  the  gains  of  robbers  and  usurers. 
'  Cyril  never  forgets.'  So  he  says  to  every  one 
who  does  him  a  good  turn.  .  .  .  And  so  he  does 
to  every  one  who  he  fancies  has  done  him  a  bad 
one.  So  here  am  I  slaving  away,  a  subordinate 
priest,  while  such  fellows  as  Peter  the  Reader  look 
down  on  me  as  their  slave.  But  it's  always  so. 
There  never  was  a  bishop  yet,  except  the  blessed 
Augustine  —  would  to  Heaven  I  had  taken  my 


132  Hypatia 

abbot's  advice,  and  gone  to  him  at  Hippo !  —  who 
had  not  his  flatterers  and  his  tale-bearers,  and 
generally  the  archdeacon  at  the  head  of  them, 
ready  to  step  into  the  bishop's  place  when  he  dies, 
over  the  heads  of  hard-working  parish  priests. 
But  that  is  the  way  of  the  world.  The  sleekest 
and  the  oiliest,  and  the  noisiest ;  the  man  who  can 
bring  in  most  money  to  the  charities,  never  mind 
whence  or  how ;  the  man  who  will  take  most  of  the 
bishop's  work  off  his  hands,  and  agree  with  him  in 
everything  he  wants,  and  save  him,  by  spying  and 
eavesdropping,  the  trouble  of  using  his  own  eyes ; 
that  is  the  man  to  succeed  in  Alexandria,  or  Con- 
stantinople, or  Rome  itself.  Look  now ;  there  are 
but  seven  deacons  to  this  great  city,  and  all  its 
priests;  and  they  and  the  archdeacon  are  the 
masters  of  it  and  us.  They  and  that  Peter  manage 
Cyril's  work  for  him,  and  when  Cyril  makes  the 
archdeacon  a  bishop,  he  will  make  Peter  arch- 
deacon. .  .  .  They  have  their  reward,  they  have 
their  reward ;  and  so  has  Cyril,  for  that  matter." 

"How?" 

"  Why,  don't  say  I  said  it.  But  what  do  I  care  ? 
I  have  nothing  to  lose,  I  'm  sure.  But  they  do  say 
that  there  are  two  ways  of  promotion  in  Alexan- 
dria :  one  by  deserving  it,  the  other  by  paying  for 
it.  That 'sail." 

"  Impossible ! " 

"Oh,  of  course,  quite  impossible.  But  all  I  know 
is  just  this,  that  when  that  fellow  Martinian  got 
back  again  into  Pelusium,  after  being  turned  out 
by  the  late  bishop  for  a  rogue  and  hypocrite  as  he 
was,  and  got  the  ear  of  this  present  bishop,  and 
was  appointed  his  steward,  and  ordained  priest  — 
I'd  as  soon  have  ordained  that  street-dog — and 


Those  by  whom  Offences  Come     133 

plundered  him  and  brought  him  to  disgrace  —  for 
I  don't  believe  this  bishop  is  a  bad  man,  but  those 
who  use  rogues  must  expect  to  be  called  rogues  — 
and  ground  the  poor  to  the  earth,  and  tyrannized 
over  the  whole  city  so  that  no  man's  property,  or 
reputation,  scarcely  their  lives,  were  safe;  and 
after  all,  had  the  impudence,  when  he  was  called 
on  for  his  accounts,  to  bring  the  church  in  as 
owing  him  money ;  I  just  know  this,  that  he  added 
to  all  his  other  shamelessness  this,  that  he  offered 
the  patriarch  a  large  sum  of  money  to  buy  a  bishop- 
ric of  him.  .  .  .  And  what  do  you  think  the  patri- 
arch answered  ?  " 

"Excommunicated  the  sacrilegious  wretch,  of 
course ! " 

"  Sent  him  a  letter  to  say  that  if  he  dared  to  do 
such  a  thing  again  he  should  really  be  forced  to 
expose  him !  So  the  fellow,  taking  courage, 
brought  his  money  himself  the  next  time;  and 
all  the  world  says  that  Cyril  would  have  made 
him  a  bishop  after  all,  if  Abbot  Isidore  had  not 
written  to  remonstrate." 

"  He  could  not  have  known  the  man's  character," 
said  poor  Philammon,  hunting  for  an  excuse. 

"  The  whole  Delta  was  ringing  with  it.  Isidore 
had  written  to  him  again  and  again." 

"Surely  then  his  wish  was  to  prevent  scandal, 
and  preserve  the  unity  of  the  church  in  the  eyes 
of  the  heathen." 

The  old  man  laughed  bitterly. 

"  Ah,  the  old  story  —  of  preventing  scandals  by 
retaining  them,  and  fancying  that  sin  is  a  less  evil 
than  a  little  noise ;  as  if  the  worst  of  all  scandals 
was  not  the  being  discovered  in  hushing  up  a  scan- 
dal. And  as  for  unity,  if  you  want  that,  you  must 


134  Hypatia 

go  back  to  the  good  old  times  of  Diocletian  and 
Decius." 

"The  persecutors?" 

"Ay,  boy  —  to  the  times  of  persecution,  when 
Christians  died  like  brothers,  because  they  lived 
like  brothers.  You  will  see  very  little  of  that  now, 
except  in  some  little  remote  county  bishopric, 
which  no  one  ever  hears  of  from  year's  end  to 
year's  end.  But  in  the  cities  it  is  all  one  great 
fight  for  place  and  power.  Every  one  is  jealous 
of  his  neighbor.  The  priests  are  jealous  of  the 
deacons,  and  good  cause  they  have.  The  county 
bishops  are  jealous  of  the  metropolitan,  and  he  is 
jealous  of  the  North  African  bishops,  and  quite 
right  he  is.  What  business  have  they  to  set  up 
for  themselves,  as  if  they  were  infallible?  It's  a 
schism,  I  say  —  a  complete  schism.  They  are  just 
as  bad  as  their  own  Donatists.  Did  not  the  Coun- 
cil of  Nice  settle  that  the  Metropolitan  of  Alex- 
andria should  have  authority  over  Libya  and 
Pentapolis,  according  to  the  ancient  custom  ?  " 

"  Of  course  he  ought, "  said  Philammon,  jealous 
for  the  honor  of  his  own  patriarchate. 

"  And  the  patriarchs  of  Rome  and  Constanti- 
nople are  jealous  of  our  patriarch." 

"Of  Cyril?" 

"  Of  course,  because  he  won't  be  at  their  beck 
and  nod,  and  let  them  be  lords  and  masters  of 
Africa." 

"But  surely  these  things  can  be  settled  by 
councils?" 

"  Councils  ?  Wait  till  you  have  been  at  one.  The 
blessed  Abbot  Isidore  used  to  say,  that  if  he  ever 
was  a  bishop — which  he  never  will  be  —  he  is  far 
too  honest  for  that,  —  he  would  never  go  near  one 


Those  by  whom  Offences  Come     135 

of  them ;  for  he  never  had  seen  one  which  did  not 
call  out  every  evil  passion  in  men's  hearts,  and  leave 
the  question  more  confounded  with  words  than  they 
found  it,  even  if  the  whole  matter  was  not  settled 
beforehand  by  some  chamberlain,  or  eunuch,  or 
cook  sent  from  court,  as  if  he  were  an  anointed 
vessel  of  the  Spirit,  to  settle  the  dogmas  of  the 
Holy  Catholic  Church. " 

"Cook?" 

"  Why,  Valens  sent  his  chief  cook  to  stop  Basil 
of  Caesarea  from  opposing  the  court  doctrine.  .  .  . 
I  tell  you,  the  great  battle  in  these  cases  is  to  get 
votes  from  courts,  or  to  get  to  court  yourself. 
When  I  was  young,  the  Council  of  Antioch  had 
to  make  a  law  to  keep  bishops  from  running  off  to 
Constantinople  to  intrigue,  under  pretence  of  plead- 
ing the  cause  of  the  orphan  and  widow.  But 
what 's  the  use  of  that,  when  every  noisy  and  ambi- 
tious man  shifts  and  shifts,  from  one  see  to  another, 
till  he  settles  himself  close  to  Rome  or  Byzantium, 
and  gets  the  emperor's  ear,  and  plays  into  the  hands 
of  his  courtiers?" 

"  Is  it  not  written, '  Speak  not  evil  of  dignities '?" 
said  Philammon,  in  his  most  sanctimonious  tone. 

"  Well,  what  of  that?  I  don't  speak  evil  of  dig- 
nities, when  I  complain  of  the  men  who  fill  them 
badly,  do  I?" 

"  I  never  heard  that  interpretation  of  the  text 
before." 

"Very  likely  not.  That's  no  reason  why  it 
should  not  be  true  and  orthodox.  .You  will  soon 
hear  a  good  many  more  things,  which  are  true 
enough — though  whether  they  are  orthodox  or  not, 
the  court  cooks  must  settle.  Of  course,  I  am  a  dis- 
appointed, irreverent  old  grumbler.  Of  course,  and 


136  Hypatia 

of  course,  too,  young  men  must  needs  buy  their 
own  experience,  instead  of  taking  old  folks'  at  a  gift. 
There  —  use  your  own  eyes,  and  judge  for  yourself. 
There  you  may  see  what  sort  of  saints  are  bred  by 
this  plan  of  managing  the  Catholic  Church.  There 
comes  one  of  them.  Now !  I  say  no  more  !  " 

As  he  spoke,  two  tall  negroes  came  up  to  them, 
and  set  down  before  the  steps  of  a  large  church 
which  they  were  passing,  an  object  new  to  Philam- 
mon — a  sedan-chair,  the  poles  of  which  were  inlaid 
with  ivory  and  silver,  and  the  upper  part  enclosed 
in  rose-colored  silk  curtains. 

"  What  is  inside  that  cage  ?  "  asked  he  of  the  old 
priest,  as  the  negroes  stood  wiping  the  perspiration 
from  their  foreheads,  and  a  smart  slave-girl  stepped 
forward,  with  a  parasol  and  slippers  in  her  hand, 
and  reverently  lifted  the  lower  edge  of  the  curtain. 

"  A  saint,  I  tell  you  !  " 

An  embroidered  shoe,  with  a  large  gold  cross  on 
the  instep,  was  put  forth  delicately  from  beneath 
the  curtain,  and  the  kneeling  maid  put  on  the  slip- 
per over  it. 

"  There  !  "  whispered  the  old  grumbler.  "  Not 
enough,  you  see,  to  use  Christian  men  as  beasts  of 
burden  —  Abbot  Isidore  used  to  say  —  ay,  and  told 
Iron,  the  pleader,  to  his  face,  that  he  could  not  con- 
ceive how  a  man  who  loved  Christ,  and  knew  the 
grace  which  has  made  all  men  free,  could  keep  a 
slave. " 

"  Nor  can  I,"  said  Philammon. 

"  But  we  think  otherwise,  you  see,  in  Alexandria 
here.  We  can't  even  walk  up  the  steps  of  God's 
temple  without  an  additional  protection  to  our  deli- 
cate feet. " 

"  I  had  thought  it  was  written,  '  Put  off  thy  shoes 


Those  by  whom  Offences  Come     137 

from  off  thy  feet,  for  the  place  where  thou  standest 
is  holy  ground." 

"  Ah !  there  are  a  good  many  more  things 
written  which  we  do  not  find  it  convenient  to 

recollect. Look !  There  is  one  of  the  pillars 

of  the  church  —  the  richest  and  most  pious  lady 
in  Alexandria." 

And  forth  stepped  a  figure,  at  which  Philammon's 
eyes  opened  wider  than  they  had  done  even  at  the 
sight  of  Pelagia.  Whatever  thoughts  the  rich  and 
careless  grace  of  her  attire  might  have  raised  in  his 
mind,  it  had  certainly  not  given  his  innate  Greek 
good  taste  the  inclination  to  laugh  and  weep  at  once, 
which  he  felt  at  this  specimen  of  the  tasteless 
fashion  of  an  artificial  and  decaying  civilization. 
Her  gown  was  stuffed  out  behind  in  a  fashion  which 
provoked  from  the  dirty  boys  who  lay  about  the 
steps,  gambling  for  pistachios  on  their  fingers, 
the  same  comments  with  which  Saint  Clement  had 
upbraided  from  the  pulpit  the  Alexandrian  ladies 
of  his  day.  The  said  gown  of  white  silk  was  be- 
dizened, from  waist  to  ankle,  with  certain  mysterious 
red  and  green  figures  at  least  a  foot  long,  which 
Philammon  gradually  discovered  to  be  a  represen- 
tation, in  the  very  lowest  and  ugliest  style  of  fallen 
art,  of  Dives  and  Lazarus;  while  down  her  back 
hung,  upon  a  bright  blue  shawl,  edged  with  em- 
broidered crosses,  Job  sitting,  potsherd  in  hand, 
surrounded  by  his  three  friends — a  memorial,  the 
old  priest  whispered,  of  a  pilgrimage  which  she  had 
taken  a  year  or  two  before,  to  Arabia,  to  see  and 
kiss  the  identical  dunghill  on  which  the  patriarch 
had  sat. 

Round  her  neck  hung  by  one  of  half-a-dozen 
necklaces,  a  manuscript  of  the  Gospels,  gilt-edged 


138  Hypatia 

and  clasped  with  jewels ;  the  lofty  diadem  of  pearls 
on  the  head  carried  in  front  a  large  gold  cross; 
while  above  and  around  it  her  hair,  stiffened 
with  pomatum,  was  frizzled  out  half  a  foot  from  a 
wilderness  of  plaits  and  curls,  which  must  have 
cost  some  hapless  slave-girl  an  hour's  work, 
and  perhaps  more  than  one  scolding,  that  very 
morning. 

Meekly,  with  simpering  face  and  downcast  eyes, 
and  now  and  then  a  penitent  sigh  and  shake  of  the 
head  and  pressure  of  her  hand  on  her  jewelled 
bosom,  the  fair  penitent  was  proceeding  up  the 
steps,  when  she  caught  sight  of  the  priest  and  the 
monk,  and  turning  to  them  with  an  obeisance  of 
the  deepest  humility,  entreated  to  be  allowed  to 
kiss  the  hem  of  their  garments. 

"  You  had  far  better,  madam,"  said  Philammon, 
bluntly  enough,  "  kiss  the  hem  of  your  own.  You 
carry  two  lessons  there  which  you  do  not  seem  to 
have  learnt  yet." 

In  an  instant  her  face  flashed  up  into  pride  and 
fury.  "  I  asked  for  your  blessing,  and  not  for  a 
sermon.  I  can  have  that  when  I  like." 

"  And  such  as  you  like,"  grumbled  the  old  priest, 
as  she  swept  up  the  steps,  tossing  some  small  coin 
to  the  ragged  boys,  and  murmuring  to  herself, 
loud  enough  for  Philammon's  hearing,  that  she 
should  certainly  inform  the  confessor,  and  that  she 
would  not  be  insulted  in  the  streets  by  savage 
monks. 

"  Now  she  will  confess  her  sins  inside  —  all  but 
those  which  she  has  been  showing  off  to  us  here 
outside,  and  beat  her  breast,  and  weep  like  a  very 
Magdalen ;  and  then  the  worthy  man  will  comfort 
her  with :  '  What  a  beautiful  chain  !  And  what 


Those  by  whom  Offences  Come     139 

a  shawl  —  allow  me  to  touch  it!  How  soft  and 
delicate  this  Indian  wool !  Ah  !  if  you  knew  the 
debts  which  I  have  been  compelled  to  incur  in  the 

service  of  the  sanctuary ! '  And  then  of 

course  the  answer  will  be,  as,  indeed,  he  expects  it 
should,  that  if  it  can  be  of  the  least  use  in  the 
service  of  the  Temple,  she,  of  course,  will  think  it 
only  too  great  an  honor.  .  .  .  And  he  will  keep  the 
chain,  and  perhaps  the  shawl,  too.  And  she  will 
go  home,  believing  that  she  has  fulfilled  to  the 
very  letter  the  command  to  break  off  her  sins  by 
almsgiving,  and  only  sorry  that  the  good  priest 
happened  to  hit  on  that  particular  gewgaw !  " 

"  What,"  asked  Philammon ;  "  dare  she  actually 
not  refuse  such  importunity?" 

"  From  a  poor  priest  like  me,  stoutly  enough; 
but  from  a  popular  ecclesiastic  like  him.  .  .  .  As 
Jerome  says,  in  a  letter  of  his  I  once  saw,  ladies 
think  twice  in  such  cases  before  they  offend  the 
city  newsmonger.  Have  you  anything  more  to 
say?" 

Philammon  had  nothing  to  say ;  and  wisely  held 
his  peace,  while  the  old  grumbler  ran  on : 

"  Ah,  boy,  you  have  yet  to  learn  city  fashions ! 
When  you  are  a  little  older,  instead  of  speaking 
unpleasant  truths  to  a  fine  lady  with  a  cross  on 
her  forehead,  you  will  be  ready  to  run  to  the 
Pillars  of  Hercules  at  her  beck  and  nod,  for  the 
sake  of  her  disinterested  help  toward  a  fashionable 
pulpit,  or  perhaps  a  bishopric.  The  ladies  settle 
that  for  us  here." 

"  The  women  ?  " 

"The  women,  lad.  Do  you  suppose  that  they 
heap  priests  and  churches  with  wealth  for  nothing? 
They  have  their  reward.  Do  you  suppose  that  a 


1 40  Hypatia 

preacher  gets  mto  the  pulpit  of  that  church  there, 
without  looking  anxiously,  at  the  end  of  each 
peculiarly  flowery  sentence,  to  see  whether  her 
saintship  there  is  clapping  or  not?  She,  who  has 
such  a  delicate  sense  for  orthodoxy,  that  she 
can  scent  out  Novatianism  or  Origenism  where 
no  other  mortal  nose  would  suspect  it.  She  who 
meets  at  her  own  house  weekly  all  the  richest  and 
most  pious  women  of  the  city,  to  settle  our  disci- 
pline for  us,  as  the  court  cooks  do  our  doctrine. 
She  who  has  even,  it  is  whispered,  the  ear  of  the 
Augusta  Pulcheria  herself,  and  sends  monthly  let- 
ters to  her  at  Constantinople,  and  might  give  the 
patriarch  himself  some  trouble,  if  he  crossed  her 
holy  will !  " 

"  What !  will  Cyril  truckle  to  such  creatures  ?  " 
"  Cyril  is  a  wise  man  in  his  generation  —  too 
wise,  some  say,  for  a  child  of  the  light.  But  at 
least,  he  knows  there  is  no  use  fighting  with  those 
whom  you  cannot  conquer ;  and  while  he  can  get 
money  out  of  these  great  ladies  for  his  almshouses, 
and  orphan-houses,  and  lodging-houses,  and  hos- 
pitals, and  work-shops,  and  all  the  rest  of  it — and 
in  that,  I  will  say  for  him,  there  is  no  man  on  earth 
equal  to  him,  but  Ambrose  of  Milan  and  Basil  of 
Caesarea  —  why,  I  don't  quarrel  with  him  for  mak- 
ing the  best  of  a  bad  matter ;  and  a  very  bad  mat- 
ter it  is,  boy,  and  has  been  ever  since  emperors  and 
courtiers  have  given  up  burning  and  crucifying  us, 
and  taken  to  patronizing  and  bribing  us  instead." 

Philammon  walked  on  in  silence  by  the  old 
priest's  side,  stunned  and  sickened.  ..."  And 
this  is  what  I  have  come  out  to  see —  reeds  shaken 
in  the  wind,  and  men  clothed  in  soft  raiment,  fit 
only  for  kings'  palaces !  "  For  this  he  had  left  the 


Those  by  whom  Offences  Come     141 

dear  old  Laura,  and  the  simple  joys  and  friendships 
of  childhood,  and  cast  himself  into  a  roaring  whirl- 
pool of  labor  and  temptation  !  This  was  the  har- 
monious strength  and  unity  of  that  Church  Catholic, 
in  which,  as  he  had  been  taught  from  boyhood, 
there  was  but  one  Lord,  one  Faith,  one  Spirit. 
This  was  the  indivisible  body,  "  without  spot  or 
wrinkle,  which  fitly  joined  together  and  compacted 
by  that  which  every  member  supplied,  according 
to  the  effectual  and  proportionate  working  of  every 
part,  increased  the  body,  and  enabled  it  to  build 
itself  up  in  Love !  "  He  shuddered  as  the  well- 
known  words  passed  through  his  memory,  and 
seemed  to  mock  the  base  and  chaotic  reality  around 
him.  He  felt  angry  with  the  old  man  for  having 
broken  his  dream ;  he  longed  to  believe  that  his 
complaints  were  only  exaggerations  of  cynic  pee- 
vishness, of  selfish  disappointment :  and  yet,  had 
not  Arsenius  warned  him?  Had  he  not  foretold, 
word  for  word,  what  the  youth  would  find  —  what 
he  had  found?  Then  was  Saint  Paul's  great  idea 
an  empty  and  an  impossible  dream?  No!  God's 
word  could  not  fail;  the  Church  could  not  err. 
The  fault  could  not  be  in  her,  but  in  her  enemies ; 
not,  as  the  old  man  said,  in  her  too  great  prosper- 
ity, but  in  her  slavery.  And  then  the  words  which 
he  had  heard  from  Cyril  at  their  first  interview 
rose  before  him  as  the  true  explanation.  How 
could  the  Church  work  freely  and  healthily  while 
she  was  crushed  and  fettered  by  the  rulers  of  this 
world  ?  And  how  could  they  be  anything  but  the 
tyrants  and  the  antichrists  they  were,  while  they 
were  menaced  and  deluded  by  heathen  philosophy, 
and  vain  systems  of  human  wisdom?  If  Orestes 
was  the  curse  of  the  Alexandrian  Church,  then 


142  Hypatia 

Hypatia  was  the  curse  of  Orestes.  On  her  head 
the  true  blame  lay.  She  was  the  root  of  the  evil 
Who  would  extirpate  it?  ... 

Why  should  not  he?  It  might  be  dangerous: 
yet,  successful  or  unsuccessful,  it  must  be  glorious. 
The  course  of  Christianity  wanted  great  examples. 
Might  he  not  —  and  his  young  heart  beat  high  at 
the  thought  —  might  he  not,  by  some  great  act  of 
daring,  self-sacrifice,  divine  madness  of  faith,  like 
David's  of  old,  when  he  went  out  against  the  giant 
—  awaken  selfish  and  luxurious  souls  to  a  noble 
emulation,  and  recall  to  their  minds,  perhaps  to  their 
lives,  the  patterns  of  those  martyrs  who  were  the 
pride,  the  glory,  the  heirloom  of  Egypt?  And  as 
figure  after  figure  rose  before  his  imagination,  of 
simple  men  and  weak  women  who  had  conquered 
temptation  and  shame,  torture  and  death,  to  live 
for  ever  on  the  lips  of  men,  and  take  their  seats 
among  the  patricians  of  the  heavenly  court,  with 
brows  glittering  through  all  eternities  with  the 
martyr's  crown,  his  heart  beat  thick  and  fast,  and 
he  longed  only  for  an  opportunity  to  dare  and  die. 

And  the  longing  begot  the  opportunity.  For  he 
had  hardly  rejoined  his  brother  visitors  when  the 
absorbing  thought  took  word  again,  and  he  began 
questioning  them  eagerly  for  more  information 
about  Hypatia. 

On  that  point,  indeed,  he  obtained  nothing  but 
fresh  invective;  but  when  his  companions,  after 
talking  of  the  triumph  which  the  true  faith  had 
gained  that  morning,  went  on  to  speak  of  the  great 
overthrow  of  Paganism  twenty  years  before,  under 
the  patriarch  Theophilus;  of  Olympiodorus  and 
his  mob,  who  held  the  Serapeium  for  many  days 
by  force  of  arms  against  the  Christians,  making 


Those  by  whom  Offences  Come     143 

sallies  into  the  city,  and  torturing  and  murdering 
the  prisoners  whom  they  took:  of  the  martyrs 
who,  among  those  very  pillars  which  overhung 
their  heads,  had  died  in  torments  rather  than 
sacrifice  to  Serapis ;  and  of  the  final  victory,  and 
the  soldier  who,  in  presence  of  the  trembling 
mob,  clove  the  great  jaw  of  the  colossal  idol,  and 
snapped  for  ever  the  spell  of  heathenism,  Phil- 
ammon's  heart  burned  to  distinguish  himself  like 
that  soldier,  and  to  wipe  out  his  qualms  of  con- 
science by  some  more  unquestionable  deed  of 
Christian  prowess.  There  were  no  idols  now  to 
break:  but  there  was  philosophy:  "Why  not 
carry  war  into  the  heart  of  the  enemy's  camp,  and 
beard  Satan  in  his  very  den  ?  Why  does  not  some 
man  of  God  go  boldly  into  the  lecture-room  of  the 
sorceress,  and  testify  against  her  to  her  face  ?  " 

"  Do  it  yourself  if  you  dare,"  said  Peter.  "  We 
have  no  wish  to  get  our  brains  knocked  out  by  all 
the  profligate  young  gentlemen  in  the  city." 

"  I  will  do  it,"  said  Philammon. 

"  That  is,  if  his  holiness  allows  you  to  make  such 
a  fool  of  yourself." 

"  Take  care,  sir,  of  your  words.  You  revile  the 
blessed  martyrs,  from  Saint  Stephen  to  Saint  Telem- 
achus,  when  you  call  such  a  deed  foolishness." 

"  I  shall  most  certainly  inform  his  holiness  of  your 
insolence." 

"  Do  so,"  said  Philammon,  who,  possessed  with 
a  new  idea,  wished  for  nothing  more.  And  there 
the  matter  dropped  for  the  time. 

"  The  presumption  of  the  young  in  this  genera- 
tion is  growing  insufferable,"  said  Peter  to  his 
master  that  evening. 


144  Hypatia 

"  So  much  the  better.  They  put  their  elders  on 
their  mettle  in  the  race  of  good  works.  But  who 
has  been  presuming  to-day?  " 

"  That  mad  boy  whom  Pambo  sent  up  from  the 
deserts,  dared  to  offer  himself  as  champion  of  the 
faith  against  Hypatia.  He  actually  proposed  to  go 
into  her 'lecture-room  and  argue  with  her  to  her 
face.  What  think  you  of  that  for  a  specimen  of 
youthful  modesty,  and  self-distrust?" 

Cyril  was  silent  a  while. 

"  What  answer  am  I  to  have  the  honor  of  tak- 
ing back  ?  A  month's  relegation  to  Nitria  on  bread 
and  water?  You,  I  am  sure,  will  not  allow  such 
things  to  go  unpunished ;  indeed,  if  they  do,  there 
is  an  end  to  all  authority  and  discipline." 

Cyril  was  still  silent ;  whilst  Peter's  brow  clouded 
fast.  At  last  he  answered  : 

"The  cause  wants  martyrs.  Send  the  boy  to 
me." 

Peter  went  down  with  a  shrug,  and  an  expres- 
sion of  face  which  looked  but  too  like  envy,  and 
ushered  up  the  trembling  youth,  who  dropped  on 
his  knees  as  soon  as  he  entered. 

"  So  you  wish  to  go  into  the  heathen  woman's 
lecture-room,  and  defy  her?  Have  you  courage 
for  it?" 

"  God  will  give  it  me." 

"  You  will  be  murdered  by  her  pupils." 

"I  can  defend  myself,"  said  Philammon,  with  a 
pardonable  glance  downward  at  his  sinewy  limbs. 
"And  if  not:  what  death  more  glorious  than 
martyrdom  ?  " 

Cyril  smiled  genially  enough.  "  Promise  me  two 
things." 

"  Two  thousand,  if  you  will." 


Those  by  whom  Offences  Come     145 

"  Two  are  quite  difficult  enough  to  keep.  Youth 
is  rash  in  promises,  and  rasher  in  forgetting  them. 
Promise  me  that,  whatever  happens,  you  will  not 
strike  the  first  blow." 

"  I  do." 

"  Promise  me  again,  that  you  will  not  argue 
with  her." 

"What  then?" 

"  Contradict,  denounce,  defy.  But  give  no  rea- 
sons. If  you  do,  you  are  lost.  She  is  subtler 
than  the  serpent,  skilled  in  all  the  tricks  of  logic, 
and  you  will  become  a  laughing-stock,  and  run 
away  in  shame.  Promise  me." 

"  I  do." 

"Then  go." 

"When?" 

"  The  sooner  the  better.  At  what  hour  does 
the  accursed  woman  lecture  to-morrow,  Peter  ?  " 

"  We  saw  her  going  to  the  Museum  at  nine  this 
morning." 

"  Then  go  at  nine  to-morrow.  There  is  money 
for  you." 

"What  is  this  for?"  asked  Philammon,  finger- 
ing curiously  the  first  coins  which  he  ever  had 
handled  in  his  life. 

"  To  pay  for  your  entrance.  To  the  philosopher 
none  enters  without  money.  Not  so  to  the  Church 
of  God,  open  all  day  long  to  the  beggar  and  the 
slave.  If  you  convert  her,  well.  And  if  not  "... 
And  he  added  to  himself  between  his  teeth,  "  And 
if  not,  well  also  —  perhaps  better." 

"  Ay !  "  said  Peter,  bitterly,  as  he  ushered  Phil- 
ammon out.  "  Go  up  to  Ramoth  Gilead,  and 
prosper,  young  fool !  What  evil  spirit  sent  you 
hereto  feed  the  noble  patriarch's  only  weakness?" 

H— Vol.  VI 


1 46  Hypatia 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? "  asked  Philammon,  as 
fiercely  as  he  dare. 

"  The  fancy  that  preachings,  and  protestations, 
and  martyrdoms  can  drive  out  the  Canaanites,  who 
can  only  be  got  rid  of  with  the  sword  of  the  Lord 
and  of  Gideon.  His  uncle  Theophilus  knew  that 
well  enough.  If  he  had  not,  Olympiodorus  might 
have  been  master  of  Alexandria,  and  incense  burn- 
ing before  Serapis  to  this  day.  Ay,  go,  and  let 
her  convert  you  !  Touch  the  accursed  thing,  like 
Achan,  and  see  if  you  do  not  end  by  having  it  in 
your  tent.  Keep  company  with  the  daughters  of 
Midian,  and  see  if  you  do  not  join  yourself  to 
Baalpeor,  and  eat  the  offerings  of  the  dead !  " 

And  with  this  encouraging  sentence,  the  two 
parted  for  the  night. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  EAST  WIND 

AS  Hypatia  went  forth  the  next  morning,  in  all 
her  glory,  with  a  crowd  of  philosophers  and 
philosophasters,  students,  and  fine  gentlemen,  fol- 
lowing her  in  reverend  admiration  across  the  street 
to  her  lecture-room,  a  ragged  beggar-man,  accom- 
panied by  a  huge  and  villainous-looking  dog, 
planted  himself  right  before  her,  and  extending 
a  dirty  hand,  whined  for  an  alms. 

Hypatia,  whose  refined  taste  could  never  endure 
the  sight,  much  less  the  contact,  of  anything  squa- 
lid and  degraded,  recoiled  a  little,  and  bade  the 
attendant  slave  get  rid  of  the  man,  with  a  coin. 
Several  of  the  younger  gentlemen,  however,  con- 
sidered themselves  adepts  in  that  noble  art  of 
"  upsetting  "  then  in  vogue  in  the  African  univer- 
sities, to  which  we  all  have  reason  enough  to  be 
thankful,  seeing  that  it  drove  Saint  Augustine  from 
Carthage  to  Rome ;  and  they  in  compliance  with 
the  usual  fashion  of  tormenting  any  simple  creature 
who  came  in  their  way  by  mystification  and  insult, 
commenced  a  series  of  personal  witticisims,  which 
the  beggar  bore  stoically  enough.  The  coin  was 
offered  him,  but  he  blandly  put  aside  the  hand  of 
the  giver,  and  keeping  his  place  on  the  pavement, 
seemed  inclined  to  dispute  Hypatia's  further 
passage. 


148  Hypatia 

"What  do  you  want?  Send  the  wretch  and 
his  frightful  dog  away,  gentlemen !  "  said  the  poor 
philosopher,  in  some  trepidation. 

"  I  know  that  dog,"  said  one  of  them ;  "  it  is 
Aben-Ezra's.  Where  did  you  find  it  before  it 
was  lost,  you  rascal  ?  " 

"Where  your  mother  found  you  when  she  palmed 
you  off  upon  her  goodman,  my  child  —  in  the 
slave  market.  Fair  sibyl,  have  you  already  for- 
gotten your  humblest  pupil,  as  these  young  dogs 
have,  who  are  already  trying  to  upset  their  master 
and  instructor  in  the  angelic  science  of  bullying?" 

And  the  beggar,  lifting  his  broad  straw  hat,  dis- 
closed the  features  of  Raphael  Aben-Ezra.  Hypatia 
recoiled  with  a  shriek  of  surprise. 

"  Ah  !    you  are  astonished.     At  what,  I  pray?  " 

"  To  see  you,  sir,  thus  !  " 

"Why,  then?  You  have  been  preaching  to  us 
all  a  long  time  the  glory  of  abstraction  from  the 
allurements  of  sense.  It  augurs  ill,  surely,  for 
your  estimate  either  of  your  pupils  or  of  your  own 
eloquence,  if  you  are  so  struck  with  consternation 
because  one  of  them  has  actually  at  last  obeyed 
you." 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  this  masquerade,  most 
excellent  sir  ?  "  asked  Hypatia  and  a  dozen  voices 
beside. 

"  Ask  Cyril.  I  am  on  my  way  to  Italy,  in  the 
character  of  the  New  Diogenes,  to  look,  like  him, 
for  a  man.  When  I  have  found  one,  I  shall  feel 
great  pleasure  in  returning  to  acquaint  you  with 
the  amazing  news.  Farewell !  I  wished  to  look 
once  more  at  a  certain  countenance,  though  I  have 
turned,  as  you  see,  Cynic ;  and  intend  henceforth 
to  attend  no  teacher  but  my  dog,  who  will  luckily 


The  East  Wind  149 

charge  no  fees  for  instruction ;  if  she  did,  I  must 
go  untaught,  for  my  ancestral  wealth  made  itself 
wings  yesterday  morning.  You  are  aware,  doubt- 
less, of  the  Plebiscitum  against  the  Jews,  which 
was  carried  into  effect  under  the  auspices  of  a 
certain  holy  tribune  of  the  people  ?  " 

"  Infamous !  " 

"  And  dangerous,  my  dear  lady.  Success  is  in- 
spiriting .  .  .  and  Theon's  house  is  quite  as  easily 
sacked  as  the  Jews'  quarter.  .  .  .  Beware." 

"  Come,  come,  Aben-Ezra,"  cried  the  young  men ; 
"  you  are  far  too  good  company  for  us  to  lose  you 
for  that  rascally  patriarch's  fancy.  We  will  make 
a  subscription  for  you,  eh?  And  you  shall  live 
with  each  of  us,  month  and  month  about.  We 
shall  quite  lose  the  trick  of  joking  without 
you." 

"Thank  you,  gentlemen.  But  really  you  have 
been  my  butts  far  too  long  for  me  to  think  of  be- 
coming yours.  Madam,  one  word  in  private  before 

I  go." 

Hypatia  leant  forward,  and  speaking  in  Syriac, 
whispered  hurriedly: 

"  Oh,  stay,  sir,  I  beseech  you  !  You  are  the  wisest 
of  my  pupils  —  perhaps  my  only  true  pupil.  .  .  . 
My  father  will  find  some  concealment  for  you  from 
these  wretches ;  and  if  you  need  money,  remember, 
he  is  your  debtor.  We  have  never  repaid  you  the 
gold  which " 

"  Fairest  Muse,  that  was  but  my  entrance-fee  to 
Parnassus.  It  is  I  who  am  in  your  debt ;  and  I  have 
brought  my  arrears,  in  the  form  of  this  opal  ring. 
As  for  shelter  near  you,"  he  went  on,  lowering  his 
voice,  and  speaking  like  her,  in  Syriac :  "  Hypatia 
the  Gentite  is  far  too  lovely  for  the  peace  of  mind 


150  Hypatia 

of  Raphael  the  Jew."  And  he  drew  from  his  ringer 
Miriam's  ring,  and  offered  it. 

"Impossible!"  said  Hypatia,  blushing  scarlet: 
"  I  cannot  accept  it." 

"  I  beseech  you.  It  is  the  last  earthly  burden  I 
have,  except  this  snail's  prison  of  flesh  and  blood. 
My  dagger  will  open  a  crack  through  that  when  it 
becomes  intolerable.  But  as  I  do  not  intend  to  leave 
my  shell,  if  I  can  help  it,  except  just  when  and  how 
I  choose ;  and  as,  if  I  take  this  ring  with  me,  some 
of  Heraclian's  Circumcellions  will  assuredly  knock 
my  brains  out  for  the  sake  of  it  —  I  must  entreat." 

"  Never  !  Can  you  not  sell  the  ring,  and  escape 
fc>  Synesius  ?  He  will  give  you  shelter." 

"  The  hospitable  hurricane  !  Shelter,  yes ;  but 
rest,  none.  As  soon  pitch  my  tent  in  the  crater  of 
./Etna.  Why,  he  will  be  trying  day  and  night  to 
convert  me  to  that  eclectic  farrago  of  his,  which  he 
calls  philosophic  Christianity.  Well,  if  you  will 
not  have  the  ring,  it  is  soon  disposed  of.  We 
Easterns  know  how  to  be  magnificent,  and  vanish 
as  the  lords  of  the  world  ought." 

And  he  turned  to  the  philosophic  crowd. 

"  Here,  gentlemen  of  Alexandria  !  Does  any  gay 
youth  wish  to  pay  his  debts  once  and  for  all? — 
Behold  the  Rainbow  of  Solomon,  an  opal  such  as 
Alexandria  never  saw  before,  which  would  buy  any 
one  of  you,  and  his  Macedonian  papa,  and  Mace- 
donian mamma,  and  his  Macedonian  sisters,  and 
horses,  and  parrots,  and  peacocks,  twice  over,  in 
any  slave-market  in  the  world.  Any  gentleman 
who  wishes  to  possess  a  jewel  worth  ten  thousand 
gold  pieces,  will  only  need  to  pick  it  out  of  the 
gutter  into  which  I  throw  it.  Scramble  for  it,  you 
young  Phaedrias  and  Pamphili !  There  are  Laides 


The  East  Wind  1 5 1 

and  Thaides  enough  about,  who  will  help  you  to 
spend  it." 

And  raising  the  jewel  on  high,  he  was  in  the  act 
of  tossing  it  into  the  street,  when  his  arm  was 
seized  from  behind,  and  the  ring  snatched  from 
his  hand.  He  turned,  fiercely  enough,  and  saw 
behind  him,  her  eyes  flashing  fury  and  contempt, 
old  Miriam. 

Bran  sprang  at  the  old  woman's  throat  in  an  in- 
stant: but  recoiled  again  before  the  glare  of  her 
eye.  Raphael  called  the  dog  off,  and  turning 
quietly  to  the  disappointed  spectators: 

"  It  is  all  right,  my  luckless  friends.  You  must 
raise  money  for  yourselves,  after  all ;  which,  since 
the  departure  of  my  nation,  will  be  a  somewhat 
more  difficult  matter  than  ever.  The  over-ruling 
destinies,  whom,  as  you  all  know  so  well  when  you 
are  getting  tipsy,  not  even  philosophers  can  resist, 
have  restored  the  Rainbow  of  Solomon  to  its  orig- 
inal possessor.  Farewell,  Queen  of  Philosophy! 
When  I  find  the  man,  you  shall  hear  of  it.  Mother, 
I  am  coming  with  you  for  a  friendly  word  before  we 
part,  though,"  he  went  on  laughing  as  the  two 
walked  away  together,  "  it  was  a  scupvy  trick  of 
you  to  balk  one  of  The  Nation  of  the  exquisite 
pleasure  of  seeing  those  heathen  dogs  scrambling 
in  the  gutter  for  his  bounty." 

Hypatia  went  on  to  the  Museum,  utterly  bewil- 
dered by  this  strange  meeting,  and  its  still  stranger 
end.  She  took  care,  nevertheless,  to  betray  no  sign 
of  her  deep  interest  till  she  found  herself  alone  in 
her  little  waiting-room  adjoining  the  lecture-hall; 
and  there,  throwing  herself  into  a  chair,  she  sat  and 
thought,  till  she  found,  to  her  surprise  and  anger, 
the  tears  trickling  down  her  cheeks.  Not  that  her 


152  Hypatia 

bosom  held  one  spark  of  affection  for  Raphael.  If 
there  had  ever  been  any  danger  of  that  the  wily  Jew 
had  himself  taken  care  to  ward  it  off,  by  the  sneer- 
ing and  frivolous  tone  with  which  he  quashed  every 
approach  to  deep  feeling,  either  in  himself  or  in 
others.  As  for  his  compliments  to  her  beauty,  she 
was  far  too  much  accustomed  to  such,  to  be  either 
pleased  or  displeased  by  them.  But  she  felt,  as 
she  said,  that  she  had  lost  perhaps  her  only  true 
pupil ;  and  more  —  perhaps  her  only  true  master. 
For  she  saw  clearly  enough,  that  under  that  Silenus' 
mask  was  hidden  a  nature  capable  of — perhaps 
more  than  she  dare  think  of.  She  had  always  felt 
him  her  superior  in  practical  cunning;  and  that 
morning  had  proved  to  her  what  she  had  long 
suspected,  that  he  was  possibly  also  her  superior 
in  that  moral  earnestness  and  strength  of  will  for 
which  she  looked  in  vain  among  the  enervated 
Greeks  who  surrounded  her.  And  even  in  those 
matters  in  which  he  professed  himself  her  pupil,  she 
had  long  been  alternately  delighted  by  finding  that 
he  alone,  of  all  her  school,  seemed  thoroughly  and 
instinctively  to  comprehend  her  every  word,  and 
chilled  by  the  disagreeable  suspicion  that  he  was 
only  playing  with  her,  and  her  mathematics  and 
geometry,  and  metaphysic  and  dialectic,  like  a 
fencer  practising  with  foils,  while  he  reserved  his 
real  strength  for  some  object  more  worthy  of  him. 
More  than  once  some  paradox  or  question  of  his  had 
shaken  her  neatest  systems  into  a  thousand  cracks, 
and  opened  up  ugly  depths  of  doubt,  even  on  the 
most  seemingly-palpable  certainties ;  or  some  half- 
jesting  allusion  to  those  Hebrew  Scriptures,  the 
quantity  and  quality  of  his  faith  in  which  he  would 
never  confess,  made  her  indignant  at  the  notion  that 


The  East  Wind  153 

he  considered  himself  in  possession  of  a  reserved 
ground  of  knowledge,  deeper  and  surer  than  her 
own,  in  which  he  did  not  deign  to  allow  her  to 
share. 

And  yet  she  was  irresistibly  attracted  to  him. 
That  deliberate  and  consistent  luxury  of  his,  from 
which  she  shrank,  he  had  always  boasted  that  he 
was  able  to  put  on  and  take  off  at  will  like  a  gar- 
ment: and  now  he  seemed  to  have  proved  his 
words ;  to  be  a  worthy  rival  of  the  great  stoics  of 
old  time.  Could  Zeno  himself  have  asked  more 
from  frail  humanity?  Moreover,  Raphael  had  been 
of  infinite  practical  use  to  her.  He  worked  out, 
unasked,  her  mathematical  problems;  he  looked 
out  authorities,  kept  her  pupils  in  order  by  his 
bitter  tongue,  and  drew  fresh  students  to  her  lect- 
ures by  the  attractions  of  his  wit,  his  arguments, 
and  last,  but  not  least,  his  unrivalled  cook  and 
cellar.  Above  all,  he  acted  the  part  of  a  fierce 
and  valiant  watch-dog  on  her  behalf,  against  the 
knots  of  clownish  and  often  brutal  sophists,  the 
wrecks  of  the  old  Cynic,  Stoic,  and  Academic 
schools,  who,  with  venom  increasing,  after  the 
wont  of  parties,  with  their  decrepitude,  assailed  the 
beautifully  bespangled  card-castle  of  Neo-Platon- 
ism,  as  an  empty  medley  of  all  Greek  philosophies 
with  all  Eastern  superstitions.  All  such  Philis- 
tines had  as  yet  dreaded  the  pen  and  tongue  of 
Raphael,  even  more  than  those  of  the  chivalrous 
Bishop  of  Cyrene,  though  he  certainly,  to  judge 
from  certain  of  his  letters,  hated  them  as  much  as 
he  could  hate  any  human  being ;  which  was  after 
all  not  very  bitterly. 

But  the  visits  of  Synesius  were  few  and  far  be- 
tween; the  distance  between  Carthage  and  Alex- 


1 54  Hypatia 

andria,  and  the  labor  of  his  diocese,  and,  worse 
than  all,  the  growing  difference  in  purpose  between 
him  and  his  beautiful  teacher,  made  his  protection 
all  but  valueless.  And  now  Aben-Ezra  was  gone 
too,  and  with  him  were  gone  a  thousand  plans  and 
hopes.  To  have  converted  him  at  last  to  a  phil- 
osophic faith  in  the  old  gods !  To  have  made  him 
her  instrument  for  turning  back  the  stream  of 
human  error !  .  .  .  How  often  had  that  dream 
crossed  her !  And  now,  who  would  take  his 
place?  Athanasius?  Synesius  in  his  good-nature 
might  dignify  him  with  the  name  of  brother,  but 
to  her  he  was  a  powerless  pedant,  destined  to  die 
without  having  wrought  any  deliverance  on  the 
earth,  as  indeed  the  event  proved.  Plutarch  of 
Athens?  He  was  superannuated.  Syrianus?  A 
mere  logician,  twisting  Aristotle  to  mean  what  she 
knew,  and  he  ought  to  have  known,  Aristotle 
never  meant.  Her  father?  A  man  of  triangles 
and  conic  sections.  How  paltry  they  all  looked  by 
the  side  of  the  unfathomable  Jew !  —  Spinners  of 
charming  cobwebs.  .  .  .  But  would  the  flies  con- 
descend to  be  caught  in  them  !  Builders  of  pretty- 
houses.  ...  If  people  would  but  enter  and  live  in 
them !  Preachers  of  superfine  morality  .  .  .  which 
their  admiring  pupils  never  dreamt  of  practising. 
Without  her,  she  well  knew,  philosophy  must  die 
in  Alexandria.  And  was  it  her  wisdom  —  or  other 
and  more  earthly  charms  of  hers  —  which  enabled 
her  to  keep  it  alive?  Sickening  thought!  Oh, 
that  she  were  ugly,  only  to  test  the  power  of  her 
doctrines. 

Ho !  The  odds  were  fearful  enough  already ; 
she  would  be  glad  of  any  help,  however  earthly 
and  carnal.  But  was  not  the  work  hopeless? 


The  East  Wind  155 

What  she  wanted  was  men  who  could  act  while 
she  thought.  And  those  were  just  the  men  whom 
she  would  find  nowhere  but  —  she  knew  it  too 
well  —  in  the  hated  Christian  priesthood.  And 
then  that  fearful  Iphigenia  sacrifice  loomed  in  the 
distance  as  inevitable.  The  only  hope  of  phil- 
osophy was  in  her  despair ! 

She  dashed  away  the  tears,  and  proudly  entered 
the  lecture-hall,  and  ascended  the  tribune  like  a 
goddess,  amid  the  shouts  of  her  audience.  .  .  . 
What  did  she  care  for  them?  Would  they  do 
what  she  told  them?  She  was  half  through  her 
lecture  before  she  could  recollect  herself,  and 
banish  from  her  mind  the  thought  of  Raphael. 
And  at  that  point  we  will  take  the  lecture  up. 

"  Truth !  Where  is  truth  but  in  the  soul  itself? 
Facts,  objects,  are  but  phantoms  matter-woven  — 
ghosts  of  this  earthly  night,  at  which  the  soul, 
sleeping  here  in  the  mire  and  clay  of  matter,  shud- 
ders and  names  its  own  vague  tremors  sense  and 
perception.  Yet,  even  as  our  nightly  dreams  stir 
in  us  the  suspicion  of  mysterious  and  immaterial 
presences,  unfettered  by  the  bonds  of  time  and 
space,  so  do  these  waking  dreams  which  we  call 
sight  and  sound.  They  are  divine  messengers, 
whom  Zeus,  pitying  his  children,  even  when  he 
pent  them  in  this  prison-house  of  flesh,  appointed 
to  arouse  in  them  dim  recollections  of  that  real 
world  of  souls  whence  they  came.  Awakened 
once  to  them;  seeing,  through  the  veil  of  sense 
and  fact,  the  spiritual  truth  of  which  they  are  but 
the  accidental  garment,  concealing  the  very  thing 
which  they  make  palpable,  the  philosopher  may 


156  Hypatia 

neglect  the  fact  for  the  doctrine,  the  shell  for  the 
kernel,  the  body  for  the  soul,  of  which  it  is  but 
the  symbol  and  the  vehicle.     What  matter,  then, 
to  the  philosopher  whether  these  names  of  men, 
Hector  or  Priam,  Helen   or  Achilles,   were  ever 
visible  as  phantoms  of  flesh  and  blood  before  the 
eyes  of  men?     What  matter  whether  they  spoke 
or  thought  as  he  of  Scios  says  they  did  ?     What 
matter,  even,  whether  he  himself  ever  had  earthly 
life  ?     The  book  is  here  —  the  word   which  men 
call  his.     Let  the  thoughts  thereof  have  been  at 
first  whose  they  may,  now  they  are  mine.     I  have 
taken  them  to  myself,  and  thought  them  to  myself, 
and  made  them  parts  of  my  own  soul.     Nay,  they 
were  and  ever  will  be  parts  of  me ;  for  they,  even 
as  the  poet  was,  even  as  I  am,  are  but  a  part  of 
the  universal  soul.     What  matter,  then,  what  myths 
grew  up  around  those  mighty  thoughts  of  ancient 
seers?     Let   others   try   to   reconcile   the   Cyclic 
fragments,  or  vindicate  the   Catalogue    of  ships. 
What  has  the  philosopher  lost,  though  the  former 
were  proved   to  be  contradictory,  and  the  latter 
interpolated?     The  thoughts  are  there,  and  ours. 
Let  us  open  our  hearts  lovingly  to  receive  them, 
from  whencesoever  they  may  have  come.     As  in 
men,  so  in  books,  the  soul  is  all  with  which  our 
souls  must  deal ;   and  the  soul  of  the  book  is  what- 
soever beautiful,  and  true,  and  noble  we  can  find 
in  it.     It  matters  not  to  us  whether  the  poet  was 
altogether  conscious  of  the  meanings  which  we  can 
find  in  him.     Consciously  or  unconsciously  to  him, 
the  meanings  must  be  there;   for  were  they  not 
there  to  be  seen,  how  could  we  see  them  ?     There 
are  those  among  the  uninitiate  vulgar  —  and  those, 
too,  who  carry  under  the  philosophic  cloak  hearts 


The  East  Wind  157 

still  uninitiate  —  who  revile  such  interpretations  as 
merely  the  sophistic  and  arbitrary  sports  of  fancy. 
It  lies  with  them  to  show  what  Homer  meant,  if 
our  spiritual  meanings  be  absurd;  to  tell  the 
world  why  Homer  is  admirable,  if  that  for  which 
we  hold  him  up  to  admiration  does  not  exist  in 
him.  Will  they  say  that  the  honor  which  he  has 
enjoyed  for  ages  was  inspired  by  that  which  seems 
to  be  his  first  and  literal  meaning?  And  more, 
will  they  venture  to  impute  that  literal  meaning  to 
him?  can  they  suppose  that  the  divine  soul  of 
Homer  could  degrade  itself  to  write  of  actual  and 
physical  feastings,  and  nuptials,  and  dances,  actual 
nightly  thefts  of  horses,  actual  fidelity  of  dogs  and 
swineherds,  actual  intermarriages  between  deities 
and  men,  or  that  it  is  this  seeming  vulgarity 
which  has  won  for  him  from  the  wisest  of  every 
age  the  title  of  the  father  of  poetry?  Degrading 
thought !  fit  only  for  the  coarse  and  sense-bound 
tribe  who  can  appreciate  nothing  but  what  is  pal- 
pable to  sense  and  sight !  As  soon  believe  the 
Christian  scriptures,  when  they  tell  us  of  a  deity 
who  has  hands  and  feet,  eyes  and  ears,  who 
condescends  to  command  the  patterns  of  furniture 
and  culinary  utensils,  and  is  made  perfect  by  being 
born  —  disgusting  thought !  —  as  the  son  of  a 
village  maiden,  and  defiling  himself  with  the  wants 
and  sorrows  of  the  lowest  slaves !  " 

"  It  is  false  !  blasphemous !  The  Scriptures 
cannot  lie  !  "  cried  a  voice  from  the  further  end  of 
the  room. 

It  was  Philammon's.  He  had  been  listening  to 
the  whole  lecture,  and  yet  not  so  much  listening  as 
watching,  in  bewilderment,  the  beauty  of  the 
speaker,  the  grace  of  her  action,  the  melody  of  her 


158  Hypatia 

voice,  and  last,  but  not  least,  the  maze  of  her  rhet- 
oric, as  it  glittered  before  his  mind's  eye  like  a  cob- 
web diamonded  with  dew.  A  sea  of  new  thoughts 
and  questions,  if  not  of  doubts,  came  rushing 
in  at  every  sentence  on  his  acute  Greek  intellect, 
all  the  more  plentifully  and  irresistibly  because  his 
speculative  faculty  was  as  yet  altogether  waste  and 
empty,  undefended  by  any  scientific  culture  from 
the  inrushing  flood.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life 
he  found  himself  face  to  face  with  the  root-ques- 
tions of  all  thought:  "What  am  I,  and  where?" 
"What  can  I  know?"  And  in  the  half- terrified 
struggle  with  them,  he  had  all  but  forgotten  the 
purpose  for  which  he  entered  the  lecture-hall. 
He  felt  that  he  must  break  the  spell.  Was  she 
not  a  heathen  and  a  false  prophetess  ?  Here  was 
something  tangible  to  attack ;  and  half  in  indigna- 
tion at  the  blasphemy,  half  in  order  to  force  himself 
into  action,  he  had  sprung  up  and  spoken. 

A  yell  arose.  "  Turn  the  monk  out !  "  "  Throw 
the  rustic  through  the  window !  "  cried  a  dozen 
young  gentlemen.  Several  of  the  most,  valiant 
began  to  scramble  over  the  benches  up  to  him ;  and 
Philammon  was  congratulating  himself  on  the  near 
approach  of  a  glorious  martyrdom,  when  Hypatia's 
voice,  calm  and  silvery,  stifled  the  tumult  in  a 
moment. 

"  Let  the  youth  listen,  gentlemen.  He  is  but  a 
monk  and  a  plebeian,  and  knows  no  better ;  he  has 
been  taught  thus.  Let  him  sit  here  quietly,  and 
perhaps  we  may  be  able  to  teach  him  otherwise." 

And  without  interrupting,  even  by  a  change  of 
tone,  the  thread  of  her  discourse,  she  continued : 

"  Listen,  then,  to  a  passage,  from  the  sixth  book 
of  the  *  Iliad/  in  which  last  night  I  seemed  to 


The  East  Wind  159 

see  glimpses  of  some  mighty  mystery.  You  know 
it  well :  yet  I  will  read  it  to  you ;  the  very  sound 
and  pomp  of  that  great  verse  may  tune  our  souls 
to  a  fit  key  for  the  reception  of  lofty  wisdom.  For 
well  said  Abamnon  the  Teacher,  that '  the  soul  con- 
sisted first  of  harmony  and  rhythm,  and  ere  it  gave 
itself  to  the  body,  had  listened  to  the  divine  har- 
mony. Therefore  it  is  that  when,  after  having 
come  into  a  body,  it  hears  such  melodies  as  most 
preserve  the  divine  footstep  of  harmony,  it  em- 
braces such,  and  recollects  from  them  that  divine 
harmony,  and  is  impelled  to  it,  and  finds  its  home 
in  it,  and  shares  of  it  as  much  as  it  can  share.'  " 

And  therewith  fell  on  Philammon's  ear,  for  the 
first  time,  the  mighty  thunder-roll  of  Homer's  verse : 

So  spoke  the  stewardess:  but  Hector  rushed 

From  the  house,  the  same  way  back,  down  stately  streets, 

Through  the  broad  city,  to  the  Scaian  gates, 

Whereby  he  must  go  forth  toward  the  plain, 

There  running  toward  him  came  Andromache, 

His  ample-dowered  wife,  Eetion's  child  — 

Eetion  the  great-hearted,  he  who  dwelt 

In  Thebe*  under  Places,  and  the  woods 

Of  Placos,  ruling  over  Kilic  men. 

His  daughter  wedded  Hector  brazen-helmed, 

And  met  him  then ;  and  with  her  came  a  maid, 

Who  bore  in  arms  a  playful-hearted  babe, 

An  infant  still,  akin  to  some  fair  star, 

Only  and  well-loved  child  of  Hector's  house, 

Whom  he  had  named  Scamandrios,  but  the  rest 

Astyanax,  because  his  sire  alone- 

Upheld  the  weal  of  Ilion  the  holy. 

He  smiled  in  silence,  looking  on  his  child : 

But  she  stood  close  to  him,  with  many  tears ; 

And  hung  upon  his  hand,  and  spoke,  and  called  him. 

"  My  hero,  thy  great  heart  will  wear  thee  out ; 
Thou  pitiest  not  thine  infant  child,  nor  me 
The  hapless,  soon  to  be  thy  widow ; 


160  Hypatia 

The  Greeks  will  slay  thee,  falling  one  and  all 

Upon  thee :  but  to  me  were  sweeter  far, 

Having  lost  thee,  to  die  ;  no  cheer  to  me 

Will  come  thenceforth,  if  thou  shouldst  meet  thy  fate ; 

Woes  only  :  mother  have  I  none,  nor  sire. 

For  that  my  sire  divine  Achilles  slew, 

And  wasted  utterly  the  pleasant  homes 

Of  Kilic  folk  in  Thetx?  lofty-walled, 

And  slew  Eetion  with  the  sword !  yet  spared 

To  strip  the  dead  :  awe  kept  his  soul  from  that. 

Therefore  he  burnt  him  in  his  graven  arms, 

And  heaped  a  mound  above  him  ;  and  around 

The  damsels  of  the  vEgis-holding  Zeus, 

The  nymphs  who  haunt  the  upland,  planted  elms. 

And  seven  brothers  bred  with  me  in  the  halls, 

All  in  one  day  went  down  to  Hades  there ; 

For  all  of  them  swift-foot  Achilles  slew 

Beside  the  lazy  kine  and  snow-white  sheep. 

And  her,  my  mother,  who  of  late  was  queen 

Beneath  the  woods  of  Placos,  he  brought  here 

Among  his  other  spoils  ;  yet  set  her  free 

Again,  receiving  ransom  rich  and  great. 

But  Artemis,  whose  bow  is  all  her  joy, 

Smote  her  to  death  within  her  father's  halls. 

Hector !  so  thou  art  father  to  me  now, 

Mother,  and  brother,  and  husband  fair  and  strong  1 

Oh,  come  now,  pity  me,  and  stay  thou  here 

Upon  the  tower,  nor  make  thy  child  an  orphan 

And  me  thy  wife  a  widow  ;  range  the  men 

Here  by  the  fig-tree,  where  the  city  lies 

Lowest,  and  where  the  wall  can  well  be  scaled  ; 

For  here  three  times  the  best  have  tried  the  assault 

Round  either  Ajax,  and  Idomeneus, 

And  round  the  Atridai  both,  and  Tydeus'  son, 

Whether  some  cunning  seer  taught  them  craft, 

Or  their  own  spirit  stirred  and  drove  them  on." 

Then  spake  tall  Hector,  with  the  glancing  helm: 
"  All  this  I  too  have  watched,  my  wife ;  yet  much 
I  hold  in  dread  the  scorn  of  Trojan  men 
And  Trojan  women  with  their  trailing  shawls, 
If,  like  a  coward,  I  should  skulk  from  war. 
Beside,  I  have  no  lust  to  stay ;  I  have  learnt 


The  East  Wind  161 

Aye  to  be  bold,  and  lead  the  van  of  fight, 

To  win  my  father,  and  myself,  a  name. 

For  well  I  know,  at  heart  and  in  my  thought, 

The  day  will  come  when  Ilios  the  holy 

Shall  lie  in  heaps,  and  Priam,  and  the  folk 

Of  ashen-speared  Priam,  perish  all. 

But  yet  no  woe  to  come  to  Trojan  men, 

Nor  even  to  Hecabe,  nor  Priam  king, 

Nor  to  my  brothers,  who  shall  roll  in  dust, 

Many  and  fair,  beneath  the  strokes  of  foes, 

So  moves  me,  as  doth  thine,  when  thou  shalt  go 

Weeping,  led  off  by  some  brass-harnessed  Greek, 

Robbed  of  the  daylight  of  thy  liberty, 

To  weave  in  Argos  at  another's  loom, 

Or  bear  the  water  of  Messeis  home, 

Or  Hypereia,  with  unseemly  toils, 

While  heavy  doom  constrains  thee,  and  perchance 

The  folk  may  say,  who  see  thy  tears  run  down, 

4  This  was  the  wife  of  Hector,  best  in  fight 

At  Ilium,  of  horse-taming  Trojan  men.' 

So  will  they  say  perchance  ;  while  unto  thee 

Now  grief  will  come,  for  such  a  husband's  loss, 

Who  might  have  warded  off  the  day  of  thrall. 

But  may  the  soil  be  heaped  above  my  corpse 

Before  I  hear  thy  shriek  and  see  thy  shame ! " 

He  spoke,  and  stretched  his  arms  to  take  th«  child, 
But  back  the  child  upon  his  nurse's  breast 
Shrank  crying,  frightened  at  his  father's  looks, 
Fearing  the  brass  and  crest  of  horse's  hair 
Which  waved  above  the  helmet  terribly. 
Then  out  that  father  dear  and  mother  laughed, 
And  glorious  Hector  took  the  helmet  off, 
And  laid  it  gleaming  on  the  ground,  and  kissed 
His  darling  child,  and  danced  him  in  his  arm ; 
And  spoke  in  prayer  to  Zeus,  and  all  the  gods  : 
"  Zeu,  and  ye  other  gods,  oh  grant  that  this 
My  child,  like  me,  may  grow  the  champion  here 
As  good  in  strength,  and  rule  with  might  in  Troy. 
That  men  may  say,  '  The  boy  is  better  far 
Than  was  his  sire,'  when  he  returns  from  war, 
Bearing  a  gory  harness,  having  slain 
A  foeman,  and  his  mother's  heart  rejoice." 


1 62  Hypatia 

Thus  saying,  on  the  hands  of  his  dear  wife 
He  laid  the  child ;  and  she  received  him  back 
In  fragrant  bosom,  smiling  through  her  tears.1 

"  Such  is  the  myth.  Do  you  fancy  that  in  it 
Homer  meant  to  hand  down  to  the  admiration  of 
ages  such  earthly  commonplaces  as  a  mother's 
brute  affection,  and  the  terrors  of  an  infant? 
Surely  the  deeper  insight  of  the  philosopher  may 
be  allowed,  without  the  reproach  of  fancifulness, 
to  see  in  it  the  adumbration  of  some  deeper 
mystery ! 

"  The  elect  soul,  for  instance  —  is  not  its  name 
Astyanax,  king  of  the  city;  by  the  fact  of  its 
ethereal  parentage,  the  leader  and  lord  of  all 
around  it,  though  it  knows  it  not?  A  child  as  yet, 
it  lies  upon  the  fragrant  bosom  of  its  mother 
Nature,  the  nurse  and  yet  the  enemy  of  man  — 
Andromache,  as  the  poet  well  names  her,  because 
she  rights  with  that  being,  when  grown  to  man's 
estate,  whom  as  a  child  she  nourished.  Fair  is 
she,  yet  unwise;  pampering  us,  after  the  fashion 
of  mothers,  with  weak  indulgences;  fearing  to 
send  us  forth  into  the  great  realities  of  speculation, 
there  to  forget  her  in  the  pursuit  of  glory,  she 
would  have  us  while  away  our  prime  within  the 
harem,  and  play  for  ever  round  her  knees.  And 

1  The  above  lines  are  not  meant  as  a  "  translation,"  but  as  an 
humble  attempt  to  give  the  literal  sense  in  some  sort  of  metre. 
It  would  be  an  act  of  arrogance  even  to  aim  at  success  where 
Pope  and  Chapman  failed.  It  is  simply,  I  believe,  impossible 
to  render  Homer  into  English  verse ;  because,  for  one  reason 
among  many,  it  is  impossible  to  preserve  the  pomp  of  sound, 
which  invests  with  grandeur  his  most  common  words.  How 
can  any  skill  represent  the  rhythm  of  Homeric  Greek  in  a 
language  which  —  to  take  the  first  verse  which  comes  to  hand  — 
transforms  "boos  megaloio  boeien,"  into  "great  ox's  hide  "? 


The  East  Wind  163 

has  not  the  elect  soul  a  father,  too,  whom  it  knows 
not?  Hector,  he  who  is  without  —  unconfined, 
unconditioned  by  Nature,  yet  its  husband  ?  —  the 
all-pervading,  plastic  Soul,  informing,  organizing, 
whom  men  call  Zeus  the  lawgiver,  JEther  the  fire, 
Osiris  the  lifegiver ;  whom  here  the  poet  has  set 
forth  as  the  defender  of  the  mystic  city,  the 
defender  of  harmony,  and  order,  and  beauty 
throughout  the  universe?  Apart  sits  his  great 
father  —  Priam,  the  first  of  existences,  father  of 
many  sons,  the  Absolute  Reason ;  unseen,  tremen- 
dous, immovable,  in  distant  glory;  yet  himself 
amenable  to  that  abysmal  unity  which  Homer 
calls  Fate,  the  source  of  all  which  is,  yet  in  Itself 
Nothing,  without  predicate,  unnamable. 

"From  It  and  for  It  the  universal  Soul  thrills 
through  the  whole  Creation,  doing  the  behests  of 
that  Reason  from  which  it  overflowed,  unwillingly, 
into  the  storm  and  crowd  of  material  appearances ; 
warring  with  the  brute  forces  of  gross  matter, 
crushing  all  which  is  foul  and  dissonant  to  itself,  and 
clasping  to  its  bosom  the  beautiful,  and  all  wherein 
it  discovers  its  own  reflex ;  impressing  on  it  its  sig- 
nature, reproducing  from  it  its  own  likeness,  whether 
star,  or  demon,  or  soul  of  the  elect :  —  and  yet,  as 
the  poet  hints  in  anthropomorphic  language, 
haunted  all  the  while  by  a  sadness  —  weighed 
down  amid  all  its  labors  by  the  sense  of  a  fate  — 
by  the  thought  of  that  First  One  from  whom  the 
Soul  is  originally  descended ;  from  whom  it,  and  its 
Father  the  Reason  before  it,  parted  themselves 
when  they  dared  to  think  and  act,  and  assert  their 
own  free  will. 

"  And  in  the  meanwhile,  alas  !  Hector,  the  father, 
fights  around,  while  his  children  sleep  and  feed; 


1 64  Hypatia 

and  he  is  away  in  the  wars,  and  they  know  him 
not  —  know  not  that  they  the  individuals  are  but 
parts  of  him  the  universal.  And  yet  at  moments — 
oh !  thrice  blessed  they  whose  celestial  parentage 
has  made  such  moments  part  of  their  appointed 
destiny  —  at  moments  flashes  on  the  human  child 
the  intuition  of  the  unutterable  secret.  In  the 
spangled  glory  of  the  summer-night — in  the  roar 
of  the  Nile-flood,  sweeping  down  fertility  in  every 
wave  —  in  the  awful  depths  of  the  temple-shrine — 
in  the  wild  melodies  of  old  Orphic  singers,  or  be- 
fore the  images  of  those  gods  of  whose  perfect 
beauty  the  divine  theosophists  of  Greece  caught 
a  fleeting  shadow,  and  with  the  sudden  might  of 
artistic  ecstasy  smote  it,  as  by  an  enchanter's  wand, 
into  an  eternal  sleep  of  snowy  stone  —  in  these 
there  flashes  on  the  inner  eye  a  vision  beautiful  and 
terrible,  of  a  force,  an  energy,  a  soul,  an  idea,  one 
and  yet  million-fold,  rushing  through  all  created 
things,  like  the  wind  across  a  lyre,  thrilling  the 
strings  into  celestial  harmony — one  life-blood 
through  the  million  veins  of  the  universe,  from  one 
great  unseen  heart,  whose  thunderous  pulses  the 
mind  hears  far  away,  beating  for  ever  in  the  abysmal 
solitude,  beyond  the  heavens  and  the  galaxies,  be- 
yond the  spaces  and  the  times,  themselves  but  veins 
and  runnels  from  its  all-teeming  sea. 

"  Happy,  thrice  happy !  they  who  once  have 
dared,  even  though  breathless,  blinded  with  tears 
of  awful  joy,  struck  down  upon  their  knees  in  utter 
helplessness,  as  they  feel  themselves  but  dead  leaves 
in  the  wind  which  sweeps  the  universe — happy 
they  who  have  dared  to  gaze,  if  but  for  an  instant, 
on  the  terror  of  that  glorious  pagent;  who  have 
not,  like  the  young  Astyanax,  clung  shrieking  to 


The  East  Wind  165 

the  breast  of  mother  Nature,  scared  by  the  heaven- 
wide  flash  of  Hector's  arms,  and  the  glitter  of  his 
rainbow  crest !  Happy,  thrice  happy !  even  though 
their  eyeballs,  blasted  by  excess  of  light,  wither  to 
ashes  in  their  sockets  !  —  Were  it  not  a  noble  end  to 
have  seen  Zeus,  and  die  like  Semele,  burnt  up  by 
his  glory?  Happy,  thrice  happy!  though  their 
mind  reel  from  the  divine  intoxication,  and  the  hogs 
of  Circe  call  them  henceforth  madmen  and  enthusi- 
asts. Enthusiasts  they  are ;  for  Deity  is  in  them, 
and  they  in  It.  For  the  time,  this  burden  of  in- 
dividuality vanishes,  and  recognizing  themselves  as 
portions  of  the  universal  Soul,  they  rise  upward, 
through  and  beyond  that  Reason  from  whence  the 
soul  proceeds,  to  the  fount  of  all  —  the  ineffable 
and  Supreme  One — and  seeing  It,  become  by  that 
act  portions  of  Its  essence.  They  speak  no  more, 
but  It  speaks  in  them,  and  their  whole  being,  trans- 
muted by  that  glorious  sunlight  into  whose  rays  they 
have  dared,  like  the  eagle,  to  gaze  without  shrink- 
ing, becomes  an  harmonious  vehicle  for  the  words 
of  Deity,  and  passive  itself,  utters  the  secrets  of  the 
immortal  gods.  What  wonder  if  to  the  brute  mass 
they  seem  as  dreamers?  Be  it  so.  ...  Smile  if 
you  will.  But  ask  me  not  to  teach  you  things  un- 
speakable, above  all  sciences,  which  the  word-battle 
of  dialectic,  the  discursive  struggles  of  reason  can 
never  reach,  but  which  must  be  seen  only,  and  when 
seen  confessed  to  be  unspeakable.  Hence,  thou 
disputer  of  the  Academy !  —  hence,  thou  sneering 
Cynic  ! — hence,  thou  sense-worshipping  Stoic,  who 
fanciest  that  the  soul  is  to  derive  her  knowledge 
from  those  material  appearances  which  she  herself 

creates!  .  .  .  hence ;   and  yet  no:    stay  and 

sneer  if  you  will.     It  is  but  a  little  time — a  few 


1 66  Hypatia 

days  longer  in  this  prison-house  of  our  degradation, 
and  each  thing  shall  return  to  its  own  fountain; 
the  blood-drop  to  the  abysmal  heart,  and  the  water 
to  the  river,  and  the  fiver  to  the  shining  sea ;  and 
the  dewdrop  which  fell  from  heaven  shall  rise  to 
heaven  again,  shaking  off  the  dust-grains  which 
weighed  it  down,  thawed  from  the  earth-frost 
which  chained  it  here  to  herb  and  sward,  upward 
and  upward  ever  through  stars  and  suns,  through 
gods,  and  through  the  parents  of  the  gods,  purer 
and  purer  through  successive  lives,  till  it  enters 
The  Nothing,  which  is  The  All,  and  finds  its  home 
at  last."  .  .  . 

And  the  speaker  stopped  suddenly,  her  eyes 
glistening  with  tears,  her  whole  figure  trembling 
and  dilating  with  rapture.  She  remained  for  a 
moment  motionless,  gazing  earnestly  at  her  au- 
dience, as  if  in  hopes  of  exciting  in  them  some 
kindred  glow;  and  then  recovering  herself,  added 
in  a  more  tender  tone,  not  quite  unmixed  with 
sadness : 

"  Go  now,  my  pupils.  Hypatia  has  no  more  for 
you  to-day.  Go  now,  and  spare  her  at  least  — 
woman  as  she  is  after  all — the  shame  of  finding 
that  she  has  given  you  too  much,  and  lifted  the  veil 
of  Isis  before  eyes  which  are  not  enough  purified 
to  behold  the  glory  of  the  goddess. — Farewell !  " 

She  ended:  and  Philammon,  the  moment  that 
the  spell  of  her  voice  was  taken  off  him,  sprang 
up,  and  hurried  out  through  the  corridor  into  the 
street.  .  .  . 

So  beautiful !  So  calm  and  merciful  to  him ! 
So  enthusiastic  towards  all  which  was  noble  !  Had 
not  she  too  spoken  of  the  unseen  world,  of  the 
hope  of  immortality,  of  the  conquest  of  the  spirit 


The  East  Wind  1  67 

over  the  flesh,  just  as  a  Christian  might  have  done  ? 
Was  the  gulf  between  them  so  infinite  ?  If  so,  why 
had  her  aspirations  awakened  echoes  in  his  own 
heart  —  echoes  too,  just  such  as  the  prayers  and 
lessons  of  the  Laura  used  to  awaken  ?  If  the  fruit 
was  so  like,  must  not  the  root  be  like  also?  .  .  . 
Could  that  be  a  counterfeit?  That  a  minister  of 
Satan  in  the  robes  of  an  angel  of  light?  Light,  at 
least,  it  was:  purity,  simplicity,  courage,  earnest- 
ness, tenderness,  flashed  out  from  eye,  lip,  ges- 
ture. ...  A  heathen,  who  disbelieved  ?  .  .  .  What 
was  the  meaning  of  it  all? 

But  the  finishing  stroke  yet  remained  which  was 
to  complete  the  utter  confusion  of  his  mind.  For 
before  he  had  gone  fifty  yards  up  the  street,  his  little 
friend  of  the  fruit-basket,  whom  he  had  not  seen 
since  he  vanished  under  the  feet  of  the  mob,  in  the 
gateway  of  the  theatre,  clutched  him  by  the  arm, 
and  burst  forth,  breathless  with  running  : 

"  The  —  gods  —  heap  their  favors  —  on  those 
who  —  who  least  deserve  them  !  Rash  and  insolent 
rustic  !  And  this  is  the  reward  of  thy  madness  !  " 

"  Off  with  you  !  "  said  Philammon,  who  had  no 
mind  at  the  moment  to  renew  his  acquaintance  with 
the  little  porter.  But  the  guardian  of  parasols  kept 
a  firm  hold  on  his  sheepskin. 

"  Fool  !  Hypatia  herself  commands  !  Yes,  you 
will  see  her,  have  speech  with  her  !  while  I  —  I  the 
illuminated  —  I  the  appreciating  —  I  the  obedient 
—  I  the  adoring  —  who  for  these  three  years  past 
have  grovelled  in  the  kennel,  that  the  hem  of  her 
garment  might  touch  the  tip  of  my  little  finger  — 


"  What  do  you  want,  madman  ?  " 

"  She  calls  for  thee,  insensate  wretch  !     Theon 


1 68  Hypatia 

sent  me  —  breathless  at  once  with  running  and  with 
envy  —  Go  !  favorite  of  the  unjust  gods !  " 

"Who  isTheon?" 

"  Her  father,  ignorant !  He  commands  thee  to 
be  at  her  house  —  here  —  opposite  —  to-morrow  at 
the  third  hour.  Hear  and  obey !  There !  they  are 
coming  out  of  the  Museum,  and  all  the  parasols 
will  get  wrong !  Oh,  miserable  me  !  " 

And  the  poor  little  fellow  rushed  back  again, 
while  Philammon,  at  his  wits'  end  between  dread 
and  longing,  started  off,  and  ran  the  whole  way 
home  to  the  Serapeium,  regardless  of  carriages, 
elephants,  and  foot-passengers;  and  having  been 
knocked  down  by  a  surly  porter,  and  left  a  piece 
of  his  sheepskin  between  the  teeth  of  a  spiteful 
camel — neither  of  which  insults  he  had  time  to 
resent  —  arrived  at  the  archbishop's  house,  found 
Peter  the  Reader,  and  tremblingly  begged  an 
audience  from  Cyril. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  SNAPPING  OF  THE  BOW 

CYRIL  heard  Philammon's  story  and  Hypatia's 
message  with  a  quiet  smile,  and  then  dis- 
missed the  youth  to  an  afternoon  of  labor  in  the 
city,  commanding  him  to  mention  no  word  of  what 
had  happened,  and  to  come  to  him  that  evening  and 
receive  his  order,  when  he  should  have  had  time  to 
think  over  the  matter.  So  forth  Philammon  went 
with  his  companions,  through  lanes  and  alleys 
hideous  with  filth  and  poverty,  compulsory  idleness 
and  native  sin.  Fearfully  real  and  practical  it  all 
was ;  but  he  saw  it  all  dimly  as  in  a  dream.  Before 
his  eyes  one  face  was  shining;  in  his  ears  one 
silvery  voice  was  ringing.  ..."  He  is  a  monk,  and 
knows  no  better."  .  .  .  True!  And  how  should 
he  know  better?  How  could  he  tell  how  much 
more  there  was  to  know,  in  that  great  new  universe, 
in  such  a  cranny  whereof  his  life  had  till  now  been 
passed  ?  He  had  heard  but  one  side  already.  What 
if  there  were  two  sides?  Had  he  not  a  right  — 
that  is,  was  it  not  proper,  fair,  prudent,  that  he 
should  hear  both,  and  then  judge  ? 

Cyril  had  hardly,  perhaps,  done  wisely  for  the 
youth  in  sending  him  out  about  the  practical 
drudgery  of  benevolence,  before  deciding  for  him 
what  was  his  duty  with  regard  to  Hypatia's  invita- 
tion. He  had  not  calculated  on  the  new  thoughts 
which  were  tormenting  the  young  monk ;  perhaps 

I— Vol.  VI 


1 70  Hypatia 

they  would  have  been  unintelligible  to  him  had  he 
known  of  them.  Cyril  had  been  bred  up  under  the 
most  stern  dogmatic  training,  in  those  vast  mon- 
astic establishments,  which  had  arisen  amid  the 
neighboring  saltpetre  quarries  of  Nitria,  where 
thousands  toiled  in  voluntary  poverty  and  starva- 
tion at  vast  bakeries,  dyeries,  brick-fields,  tailors' 
shops,  carpenters'  yards ;  and  expended  the  profits 
of  their  labor,  not  on  themselves,  for  they  had 
need  of  nothing,  but  on  churches,  hospitals,  and 
alms.  Educated  in  that  world  of  practical  indus- 
trial production  as  well  as  of  religious  exercise, 
which  by  its  proximity  to  the  great  city  accustomed 
monks  to  that  world  which  they  despised ;  entan- 
gled from  boyhood  in  the  intrigues  of  his  fierce  and 
ambitious  uncle  Theophilus,  Cyril  had  succeeded 
him  in  the  patriarchate  of  Alexandria  without 
having  felt  a  doubt,  and  stood  free  to  throw  his 
fiery  energy  and  clear  practical  intellect  into  the 
cause  of  the  Church  without  scruple,  even,  where 
necessary,  without  pity.  How  could  such  a  man 
sympathize  with  the  poor  boy  of  twenty,  suddenly 
dragged  forth  from  the  quiet  cavern-shadow  of  the 
Laura  into  the  full  blaze  and  roar  of  the  world's 
noonday?  He,  too,  was  cloister-bred.  But  the 
busy  and  fanatic  atmosphere  of  Nitria,  where  every 
nerve  of  soul  and  body  was  kept  on  a  life-long 
artificial  strain,  without  rest,  without  simplicity, 
without  human  affection,  was  utterly  antipodal  to 
the  government  of  the  remote  and  needy,  though 
no  less  industrious  commonwealths  of  Coenobites, 
who  dotted  the  lonely  mountain-glens,  far  up  into 
the  heart  of  the  Nubian  desert.  In  such  a  one 
Philammon  had  received,  from  a  venerable  man,  a 
mother's  sympathy  as  well  as  a  father's  care ;  and 


The  Snapping  of  the  Bow         171 

now  he  yearned  for  the  encouragement  of  a  gentle 
voice,  for  the  greeting  of  a  kindly  eye,  and  was 
lonely  and  sick  at  heart.  .  .  .  And  still  Hypatia's 
voice  haunted  his  ears,  like  a  strain  of  music,  and 
would  not  die  away.  That  lofty  enthusiasm,  so 
sweet  and  modest  in  its  grandeur,  —  that  tone  of 
pity  —  in  one  so  lovely  it  could  not  be  called 
contempt  —  for  the  many ;  that  delicious  phantom 
of  being  an  elect  spirit  .  .  .  unlike  the  crowd.  .  .  . 
"  And  am  I  altogether  like  the  crowd  ?  "  said  Phil- 
ammon  to  himself,  as  he  staggered  along  under  the 
weight  of  a  groaning  fever-patient.  "  Can  there 
be  found  no  fitter  work  for  me  than  this,  which  any 
porter  from  the  quay  might  do  as  well?  Am  I 
not  somewhat  wasted  on  such  toil  as  this  !  Have 
I  not  an  intellect,  a  taste,  a  reason?  I  could 
appreciate  what  she  said.  —  Why  should  not  my 
faculties  be  educated  ?  Why  am  I  only  to  be  shut 
out  from  knowledge?  There  is  a  Christian  Gnosis 
as  well  as  a  heathen  one.  What  was  permissible 
to  Clement "  —  he  had  nearly  said  to  Origen,  but 
checked  himself  on  the  edge  of  heresy  —  "  is  surely 
lawful  for  me  !  Is  not  my  very  craving  for  know- 
ledge a  sign  that  I  am  capable  of  it?  Surely  my 
sphere  is  the  study  rather  than  the  street !  " 

And  then  his  fellow-laborers  —  he  could  not 
deny  it  to  himself —  began  to  grow  less  venerable 
in  his  eyes.  Let  him  try  as  he  might  to  forget  the 
old  priest's  grumblings  and  detractions,  the  fact 
was  before  him.  The  men  were  coarse,  fierce, 
noisy  ...  so  different  from  her!  Their  talk 
seemed  mere  gossip  —  scandalous  too,  and  hard- 
judging,  most  of  it;  about  that  man's  private 
ambition,  and  that  woman's  proud  looks ;  and  who 
had  stayed  for  the  Eucharist  the  Sunday  before, 


172  Hypatia 

and  who  had  gone  out  after  the  sermon ;  and  how 
the  majority  who  did  not  stay  could  possibly  dare 
to   go,   and   how   the  minority  who   did   not   go 
could   possibly  dare   to  stay.  .  .  .  Endless  suspi- 
cions, sneers,  complaints  .  .  .  what  did  they  care 
for  the   eternal   glories   and    the   beatific   vision? 
Their  one  test  for  all  men  and  things,  from  the 
patriarch  to  the   prefect,  seemed   to  be  —  did  he 
or  it  advance  the  cause  of  the  Church?  —  which 
Philammon  soon  discovered   to   mean  their  own 
cause,  their  influence,  their  self-glorification.     And 
the  poor  boy,  as  his  faculty  for  fault-finding  quick- 
ened under  the  influence  of  theirs,  seemed  to  see 
under  the   humble   stock-phrases  in   which   they 
talked   of   their   labors   of  love,   and    the   future 
reward  of  their  present  humiliations,  a  deep  and 
hardly-hidden  pride,  a  faith  in   their  own  infalli- 
bility, a  contemptuous    impatience  of  every  man, 
however  venerable,  who  differed  from  their  party 
on  any,  the  slightest,  matter.     They  spoke  with 
sneers  of  Augustine's  Latinizing  tendencies,  and 
with  open  execrations  of  Chrysostom,  as  the  vilest 
and  most  impious  of  schismatics;  and,  for  aught 
Philammon  knew,  they  were  right  enough.     But 
when  they  talked  of  wars  and  desolation  past  and 
impending,  without  a  word  of  pity  for  the  slain  and 
ruined,  as  a  just  judgment  of  Heaven  upon  heretics 
and  heathens;  when  they  argued  over  the  awful 
struggle  for  power  which,   as  he  gathered    from 
their  words,  was  even  then  pending  between  the 
Emperor  and  the  Count  of  Africa,  as  if  it  contained 
but  one  question  of  interest  to  them  —  would  Cyril, 
and  they  as  his  bodyguard,  gain  or  lose   power  in 
Alexandria?  and  lastly,  when  at  some  mention  of 
Orestes,  and  of  Hypatia  as   his  counsellor,  they 


The  Snapping  of  the  Bow        173 

broke  out  into  open  imprecations  of  God's  curse, 
and  comforted  themselves  with  the  prospect  of 
everlasting  torment  for  both;  he  shuddered 
and  asked  himself  involuntarily  —  were  these  the 
ministers  of  a  Gospel?  —  were  these  the  fruits 
of  Christ's  Spirit?  .  .  .  And  a  whisper  thrilled 
through  the  inmost  depth  of  his  soul  :  "  Is  there 
a  Gospel?  Is  there  a  Spirit  of  Christ?  Would 
not  their  fruits  be  different  from  these?  " 

Faint,  and  low,  and  distant,  was  that  whisper, 
like  the  mutter  of  an  earthquake  miles  below  the 
soil.  And  yet,  like  the  earthquake-roll,  it  had  in 
that  one  moment  jarred  every  belief,  and  hope, 
and  memory  of  his  being  each  a  hair's-breadth 
from  its  place.  .  .  .  Only  one  hair's-breadth. 
But  that  was  enough ;  his  whole  inward  and  out- 
ward world  changed  shape,  and  cracked  at  every 
joint.  What  if  it  were  to  fall  in  pieces  ?  His  brain 
reeled  with  the  thought.  He  doubted  his  own 
identity.  The  very  light  of  heaven  had  altered 
its  hue.  Was  the  firm  ground  on  which  he  stood 
after  all  no  solid  reality,  but  a  fragile  shell  which 
covered  —  what  ? 

The  nightmare  vanished,  and  he  breathed  once 
more.  What  a  strange  dream  !  The  sun  and  the 
exertion  must  have  made  him  giddy.  He  would 
forget  all  about  it. 

Weary  with  labor,  and  still  wearier  with  thought, 
he  returned  that  evening,  longing,  and  yet  dread- 
ing to  be  permitted  to  speak  with  Hypatia.  He 
half  hoped  at  moments  that  Cyril  might  think  him 
too  weak  for  it;  and  the  next,  all  his  pride  and 
daring,  not  to  say  his  faith  and  hope,  spurred  him 
on.  Might  he  but  face  the  terrible  enchantress, 
and  rebuke  her  to  her  face !  And  yet  so  lovely, 


174  Hypatia 

so  noble  as  she  looked  !  Could  he  speak  to  her, 
except  in  tones  of  gentle  warning,  pity,  counsel, 
entreaty?  Might  he  not  convert  her  —  save  her? 
Glorious  thought !  to  win  such  a  soul  to  the  true 
cause !  To  be  able  to  show,  as  the  first  fruits  of 
his  mission,  the  very  champion  of  heathendom ! 
It  was  worth  while  to  have  lived  only  to  do  that ; 
and  having  done  it,  to  die. 

The  archbishop's  lodgings,  when  he  entered 
them,  were  in  a  state  of  ferment  even  greater  than 
usual.  Groups  of  monks,  priests,  parabolani,  and 
citizens  rich  and  poor,  were  hanging  about  the 
courtyard,  talking  earnestly  and  angrily.  A  large 
party  of  monks  fresh  from  Nitria,  with  ragged  hair 
and  beards,  and  the  peculiar  expression  of  coun- 
tenance which  fanatics  of  all  creeds  acquire,  fierce 
and  yet  abject,  self-conscious  and  yet  ungoverned, 
silly  and  yet  sly,  with  features  coarsened  and 
degraded  by  continual  fasting  and  self-torture, 
prudishly  shrouded  from  head  to  heel  in  their 
long  ragged  gowns,  were  gesticulating  wildly  and 
loudly,  and  calling  on  their  more  peaceable  com- 
panions, in  no  measured  terms,  to  revenge  some 
insult  offered  to  the  Church. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  asked  Philammon  of  a 
quiet  portly  citizen,  who  stood  looking  up,  with 
a  most  perplexed  visage,  at  the  windows  of  the 
patriarch's  apartments. 

"  Don't  ask  me ;  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  it 
Why  does  not  his  holiness  come  out  and  speak  to 
them  ?  Blessed  Virgin,  mother  of  God !  that  we 
were  well  through  it  all ! " 

"  Coward  !  "  bawled  a  monk  in  his  ear.  "  These 
shopkeepers  care  for  nothing  but  seeing  their  stalls 
safe.  Rather  than  lose  a  day's  custom,  they  would 


The  Snapping  of  the  Bow         1 75 

give  the  very  churches  to  be  plundered  by  the 
heathen !  " 

"We  do  not  want  them  !  "  cried  another.  "  We 
managed  Dioscuros  and  his  brother,  and  we  can 
manage  Orestes.  What  matter  what  answer  he 
sends  ?  The  devil  shall  have  his  own !  " 

"They  ought  to  have  been  back  two  hours 
ago ;  they  are  murdered  by  this  time." 

"  He  would  not  dare  to  touch  the  archdeacon !  " 

"  He  will  dare  anything.  Cyril  should  never 
have  sent  them  forth  as  lambs  among  wolves. 
What  necessity  was  there  for  letting  the  prefect 
know  that  the  Jews  were  gone  ?  He  would  have 
found  it  out  for  himself  fast  enough,  the  next  time 
he  wanted  to  borrow  money." 

"What  is  all  this  about,  reverend  sir?"  asked 
Philammon  of  Peter  the  Reader,  who  made  his 
appearance  at  that  moment  in  the  quadrangle, 
walking  with  great  strides,  like  the  soul  of  Aga- 
memnon across  the  meads  of  Asphodel,  and 
apparently  beside  himself  with  rage. 

"  Ah !  you  here  ?  You  may  go  to-morrow,  young 
fool !  The  patriarch  can't  talk  to  you.  Why  should 
he?  Some  people  have  a  great  deal  too  much 
notice  taken  of  them,  in  my  opinion.  Yes ;  you 
may  go.  If  your  head  is  not  turned  already,  you 
may  go  and  get  it  turned  to-morrow.  We  shall  see 
whether  he  who  exalts  himself  is  not  abased,  before 
all  is  over !  "  And  he  was  striding  away,  when  Phil- 
ammon, at  the  risk  of  an  explosion,  stopped  him. 

"  His  holiness  commanded  me  to  see  him,  sir, 
before " 

Peter  turned  on  him  in  a  fury.  "  Fool !  will 
you  dare  to  intrude  your  fantastical  dreams  on 
him  at  such  a  moment  as  this?" 


1 76  Hypatia 

"  He  commanded  me  to  see  him,"  said  Philam- 
mon,  with  the  true  soldierlike  discipline  of  a  monk; 
"  and  see  him  I  will,  in  spite  of  any  man.  I  believe 
in  my  heart  you  wish  to  keep  me  from  his  coun- 
sels and  his  blessing." 

Peter  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  with  a  right 
wicked  expression,  and  then,  to  the  youth's  as- 
tonishment, struck  him  full  in  the  face,  and  yelled 
for  help. 

If  the  blow  had  been  given  by  Pambo  in  the 
Laura  a  week  before,  Philammon  would  have 
borne  it.  But  from  that  man,  and  coming  unex- 
pectedly as  the  finishing  stroke  to  all  his  disap- 
pointment and  disgust,  it  was  intolerable ;  and  in 
an  instant  Peter's  long  legs  were  sprawling  on  the 
pavement,  while  he  bellowed  like  a  bull  for  all 
the  monks  in  Nitria. 

A  dozen  lean  brown  hands  were  at  Philammon's 
throat  as  Peter  rose. 

"  Seize  him !  hold  him !  "  half  blubbered  he. 
"  The  traitor  !  the  heretic  !  He  holds  communion 
with  heathens !  " 

"  Down  with  him  !  "  "  Cast  him  out !  "  "  Carry 
him  to  the  archbishop  !  "  while  Philammon  shook 
himself  free,  and  Peter  returned  to  the  charge. 

"  I  call  all  good  catholics  to  witness !  He  has 
beaten  an  ecclesiastic  in  the  courts  of  the  Lord's 
house,  even  in  the  midst  of  thee,  O  Jerusalem! 
And  he  was  in  Hypatia's  lecture-room  this 
morning !  " 

A  groan  of  pious  horror  rose.  Philammon  set 
his  back  against  the  wall. 

"  His  holiness  the  patriarch  sent  me." 

"  He  confesses,  he  confesses  !  He  deluded  the 
piety  of  the  patriarch  into  letting  him  go,  under 


The  Snapping  of  the  Bow        1 77 

color  of  converting  her ;  and  even  now  he  wants 
to  intrude  on  the  sacred  presence  of  Cyril,  burning 
only  with  carnal  desire  that  he  may  meet  the 
sorceress  in  her  house  to-morrow !  " 

"  Scandal !  "  "  Abomination  in  the  holy  place !  " 
and  a  rush  at  the  poor  youth  took  place. 

His  blood  was  thoroughly  up.  The  respectable 
part  of  the  crowd,  as  usual  in  such  cases,  pru- 
dently retreated,  and  left  him  to  the  mercy  of  the 
monks,  with  an  eye  to  their  own  reputation  for 
orthodoxy,  not  to  mention  their  personal  safety; 
and  he  had  to  help  himself  as  he  could.  He 
looked  round  for  a  weapon.  There  was  none. 
The  ring  of  monks  were  baying  at  him  like  hounds 
round  a  bear :  and  though  he  might  have  been  a 
match  for  any  one  of  them  singly,  yet  their  sinewy 
limbs  and  determined  faces  warned  him  that  against 
such  odds  the  struggle  would  be  desperate. 

"  Let  me  leave  this  court  in  safety !  God  knows 
whether  I  am  a  heretic ;  and  to  Him  I  commit  my 
cause !  The  holy  patriarch  shall  know  of  your 
iniquity.  I  will  not  trouble  you ;  I  give  you  leave 
to  call  me  heretic,  or  heathen,  if  you  will,  if  I  cross 
this  threshold  till  Cyril  himself  sends  for  me  back 
to  shame  you." 

And  he  turned,  and  forced  his  way  to  the  gate, 
amid  a  yell  of  derision  which  brought  every  drop 
of  blood  in  his  body  into  his  cheeks.  Twice,  as 
he  went  down  the  vaulted  passage,  a  rush  was 
made  on  him  from  behind,  but  the  soberer  of  his 
persecutors  checked  it.  Yet  he  could  not  leave 
them,  young  and  hot-headed  as  he  was,  without 
one  last  word,  and  on  the  threshold  he  turned. 

"  You  !  who  call  yourselves  the  disciples  of  the 
Lord,  and  are  more  like  the  demoniacs  who  abode 


178  Hypatia 

day  and  night  in  the  tombs,  crying  and  cutting 
themselves  with  stones " 

In  an  instant  they  rushed  upon  him;  and, 
luckily  for  him,  rushed  also  into  the  arms  of  a 
party  of  ecclesiastics,  who  were  hurrying  inwards 
from  the  street,  with  faces  of  blank  terror. 

"  He  has  refused  !"  shouted  the  foremost.  "He 
declares  war  against  the  Church  of  God  !  " 

"  Oh,  my  friends,"  panted  the  archdeacon,  "  we 
are  escaped  like  the  bird  out  of  the  snare  of  the 
fowler.  The  tyrant  kept  us  waiting  two  hours 
at  his  palace-gates,  and  then  sent  lictors  out  upon 
us,  with  rods  and  axes,  telling  us  that  they  were 
the  only  message  which  he  had  for  robbers  and 
rioters." 

"  Back  to  the  patriarch !  "  and  the  whole  mob 
streamed  in  again,  leaving  Philammon  alone  in 
the  street and  in  the  world. 

Whither  now? 

He  strode  on  in  his  wrath  some  hundred  yards 
or  more  before  he  asked  himself  that  question. 
And  when  he  asked  it,  he  found  himself  in  no 
humor  to  answer  it.  He  was  adrift,  and  blown 
out  of  harbor  upon  a  shoreless  sea,  in  utter  dark- 
ness; all  heaven  and  earth  were  nothing  to  him. 
He  was  alone  in  the  blindness  of  anger. 

Gradually  one  fixed  idea,  as  a  light-tower,  be- 
gan to  glimmer  through  the  storm.  .  .  .  To  see 
Hypatia,  and  convert  her.  He  had  the  patriarch's 
leave  for  that.  That  must  be  right.  That  would 
justify  him  —  bring  him  back,  perhaps,  in  a  tri- 
umph more  glorious  than  any  Caesar's,  leading 
captive,  in  the  fetters  of  the  Gospel,  the  Queen 
of  Heathendom.  Yes,  there  was  that  left,  for 
which  to  live. 


The  Snapping  of  the  Bow        1 79 

His  passion  cooled  down  gradually  as  he  wan- 
dered on  in  the  fading  evening-light,  up  one  street 
and  down  another,  till  he  had  utterly  lost  his  way. 
What  matter?  He  should  find  that  lecture-room 
to-morrow  at  least.  At  last  he  found  himself  in 
a  broad  avenue,  which  he  seemed  to  know. 
Was  that  the  Sungate  in  the  distance  ?  He  saun- 
tered carelessly  down  it,  and  found  himself  at  last 
on  the  great  Esplanade,  whither  the  little  porter 
had  taken  him  three  days  before.  He  was  close 
then  to  the  Museum,  and  to  her  house.  Destiny 
had  led  him,  unconsciously,  towards  the  scene 
of  his  enterprise.  It  was  a  good  omen ;  he  would 
go  thither  at  once.  He  might  sleep  upon  her 
doorstep  as  well  as  upon  any  other.  Perhaps  he 
might  catch  a  glimpse  of  her  going  out  or  coming 
in,  even  at  that  late  hour.  It  might  be  well  to 
accustom  himself  to  the  sight  of  her.  There 
would  be  the  less  chance  of  his  being  abashed 
to-morrow  before  those  sorceress  eyes.  And 
moreover,  to  tell  the  truth,  his  self-dependence, 
and  his  self-will  too,  crushed,  or  rather  laid  to 
sleep,  by  the  discipline  of  the  Laura,  had  started 
into  wild  life,  and  gave  him  a  mysterious  pleasure, 
which  he  had  not  felt  since  he  was  a  disobedient 
little  boy,  of  doing  what  he  chose,  right  or  wrong, 
simply  because  he  chose  it.  Such  moments  come 
to  every  free-willed  creature.  Happy  are  those 
who  have  not,  like  poor  Philammon,  been  kept 
by  a  hotbed  cultivation  from  knowing  how  to  face 
them !  But  he  had  yet  to  learn,  or  rather  his 
tutors  had  to  learn,  that  the  sure  path  toward 
willing  obedience  and  manful  self-restraint,  lies 
not  through  slavery,  but  through  liberty. 

He  was  not  certain  which  was  Hypatia's  house ; 


1 80  Hypatia 

but  the  door  of  the  Museum  he  could  not  forget. 
So  there  he  sat  himself  down  under  the  garden- 
wall,  soothed  by  the  cool  night,  and  the  holy 
silence,  and  the  rich  perfume  of  the  thousand 
foreign  flowers  which  filled  the  air  with  enervating 
balm.  There  he  sat,  and  watched,  and  watched, 
and  watched  in  vain  for  some  glimpse  of  his  one 
object.  Which  of  the  houses  was  hers?  Which 
was  the  window  of  her  chamber?  Did  it  look 
into  the  street?  What  business  had  his  fancy  with 
woman's  chambers?  .  .  .  But  that  one  open  win- 
dow, with  the  lamp  burning  bright  inside  —  he 
could  not  help  looking  up  to  it  —  he  could  not 
help  fancying  —  hoping.  He  even  moved  a  few 
yards  to  see  better  the  bright  interior  of  the  room. 
High  up  as  it  was,  he  could  still  discern  shelves  of 
books  —  pictures  on  the  walls.  Was  that  a  voice? 
Yes  !  a  woman's  voice  —  reading  aloud  in  metre  — 
was  plainly  distinguishable  in  the  dead  stillness  of 
the  night,  which  did  not  even  awaken  a  whisper  in 
the  trees  above  his  head.  He  stood,  spell-bound 
by  curiosity. 

Suddenly  the  voice  ceased,  and  a  woman's  figure 
came  forward  to  the  window,  and  stood  motionless, 
gazing  upward  at  the  spangled  star-world  over- 
head, and  seeming  to  drink  in  the  glory,  and  the 
silence,  and  the  rich  perfume.  .  .  .  Could  it  be 
she  ?  Every  pulse  in  his  body  throbbed  madly.  .  .  . 
Could  it  be?  What  was  she  doing?  He  could 
not  distinguish  the  features ;  but  the  full  blaze  of 
the  eastern  moon  showed  him  an  upturned  brow, 
between  a  golden  stream  of  glittering  tresses  which 
hid  her  whole  figure,  except  the  white  hands 
clasped  upon  her  bosom.  .  .  .  Was  she  praying? 
were  these  her  midnight  sorceries?  .  .  . 


The  Snapping  of  the  Bow         1 8 1 

And  still  his  heart  throbbed  and  throbbed,  till 
he  almost  fancied  she  must  hear  its  noisy  beat  — 
and  still  she  stood  motionless,  gazing  upon  the 
sky,  like  some  exquisite  chryselephantine  statue, 
all  ivory  and  gold.  And  behind  her,  round  the 
bright  room  within,  painting,  books,  a  whole  world 
of  unknown  science  and  beauty.  .  .  .  And  she 
the  priestess  of  it  all  ...  inviting  him  to  learn 
of  her  and  be  wise !  It  was  a  temptation !  He 
would  flee  from  it !  —  Fool  that  he  was !  —  and  it 
might  not  be  she  after  all ! 

He  made  some  sudden  movement.  She  looked 
down,  saw  him,  and  shutting  the  blind,  vanished 
for  the  night.  In  vain,  now  that  the  temptation 
had  departed,  he  sat  and  waited  for  its  reappear- 
ance, half  cursing  himself  for  having  broken  the 
spell.  But  the  chamber  was  dark  and  silent  hence- 
forth ;  and  Philammon,  wearied  out,  found  himself 
soon  wandering  back  to  the  Laura  in  quiet  dreams, 
beneath  the  balmy,  semi-tropic  night. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  INTERVIEW 

PHILAMMON  was  aroused  from  his  slumbers 
at  sunrise  the  next  morning  by  the  attend- 
ants who  came  in  to  sweep  out  the  lecture-rooms, 
and  wandered,  disconsolately  enough,  up  and  down 
the  street ;  longing  for,  and  yet  dreading,  the  three 
weary  hours  to  be  over  which  must  pass  before  he 
would  be  admitted  to  Hypatia.  But  he  had  tasted 
no  food  since  noon  the  day  before:  he  had  had 
but  three  hours'  sleep  the  previous  night,  and  had 
been  working,  running,  and  fighting  for  two  whole 
days  without  a  moment's  peace  of  body  or  mind. 
Sick  with  hunger  and  fatigue,  and  aching  from 
head  to  foot  with  his  hard  night's  rest  on  the 
granite-flags,  he  felt  as  unable  as  man  could  well 
do  to  collect  his  thoughts  or  brace  his  nerves  for 
the  coming  interview.  How  to  get  food  he  could 
not  guess;  but  having  two  hands,  he  might  at 
least  earn  a  coin  by  carrying  a  load ;  so  he  went 
down  to  the  Esplanade  in  search  of  work.  Of  that, 
alas !  there  was  none.  So  he  sat  down  upon  the 
parapet  of  the  quay,  and  watched  the  shoals  of 
sardines  which  played  in  and  out  over  the  marble 
steps  below,  and  wondered  at  the  strange  crabs 
and  sea-locusts  which  crawled  up  and  down  the 
face  of  the  masonry,  a  few  feet  below  the  surface, 
scrambling  for  bits  of  offal,  and  making  occasional 
fruitless  dashes  at  the  nimble  little  silver  arrows 


The  Interview  183 

which  played  round  them.  And  at  last  his  whole 
soul,  too  tired  to  think  of  anything  else,  became 
absorbed  in  a  mighty  struggle  between  two  great 
crabs,  who  held  on  stoutly,  each  by  a  claw,  to  his 
respective  bunch  of  seaweed,  while  with  the  others 
they  tugged,  one  at  the  head  and  the  other  at  the 
tail  of  a  dead  fish.  Which  would  conquer?  .  .  . 
Ay,  which?  And  for  five  minutes  Philammon  was 
alone  in  the  world  with  the  two  struggling  heroes. 
.  .  .  Might  not  they  be  emblematic  ?  Might  not  the 
upper  one  typify  Cyril?  —  the  lower  one  Hypatia? 
—  and  the  dead  fish  between,  himself?  .  .  .  But 
at  last  the  dead-lock  was  suddenly  ended  —  the 
fish  parted  in  the  middle :  and  the  typical  Hypatia 
and  Cyril,  losing  hold  of  their  respective  seaweeds 
by  the  jerk,  tumbled  down,  each  with  its  half-fish, 
and  vanished  head  over  heels  into  the  blue  depths 
in  so  undignified  a  manner,  that  Philammon  burst 
into  a  shout  of  laughter. 

"  What 's  the  joke  ?  "  asked  a  well-known  voice 
behind  him ;  and  a  hand  patted  him  familiarly  on 
the  back.  He  looked  round,  and  saw  the  little 
porter,  his  head  crowned  with  a  full  basket  of  figs, 
grapes,  and  water-melons,  on  which  the  poor  youth 
cast  a  longing  eye.  "  Well,  my  young  friend,  and 
why  are  you  not  at  church?  Look  at  all  the 
saints  pouring  into  the  Caesareum  there,  behind 
you." 

Philammon  answered  sulkily  enough  something 
inarticulate. 

"  Ho,  ho !  Quarrelled  with  the  successor  of  the 
Apostles  already?  Has  my  prophecy  come  true, 
and  the  strong  meat  of  pious  riot  and  plunder 
proved  too  highly  spiced  for  ,your  young  palate. 
Eh?" 


184  Hypatia 

Poor  Philammon !  Angry  with  himself  for  feel- 
ing that  the  porter  was  right ;  shrinking  from  the 
notion  of  exposing  the  failings  of  his  fellow- 
Christians  ;  shrinking  still  more  from  making  such 
a  jackanapes  his  confidant:  and  yet  yearning  in 
his  loneliness  to  open  his  heart  to  some  one,  he 
dropped  out,  hint  by  hint,  word  by  word,  the 
events  of  the  past  evening,  and  finished  by  a 
request  to  be  put  in  the  way  of  earning  his 
breakfast. 

"  Earning  your  breakfast !  Shall  the  favorite  of 
the  gods  —  shall  the  guest  of  Hypatia  —  earn  his 
breakfast,  while  I  have  an  obol  to  share  with  him? 
Base  thought !  Youth !  I  have  wronged  you. 
Unphilosophically  I  allowed,  yesterday  morning, 
envy  to  ruffle  the  ocean  of  my  intellect.  We  are 
now  friends  and  brothers,  in  hatred  to  the  monastic 
tribe." 

"  I  do  not  hate  them,  I  tell  you,"  said  Philam- 
mon. "  But  these  Nitrian  savages " 

"  Are  the  perfect  examples  of  monkery,  and  you 
hate  them;  and  therefore,  all  greaters  containing 
the  less,  you  hate~all  less  monastic  monks  —  I  have 
not  heard  logic  lectures  in  vain.  Now,  up !  The 
sea  woos  our  dusty  limbs:  Nereids  and  Tritons, 
charging  no  cruel  coin,  call  us  to  Nature's  baths. 
At  home  a  mighty  sheat-fish  smokes  upon  the 
festive  board;  beer  crowns  the  horn,  and  onions 
deck  the  dish ;  come  then,  my  guest  and  brother !  " 

Philammon  swallowed  certain  scruples  about 
becoming  the  guest  of  a  heathen,  seeing  that 
otherwise  there  seemed  no  chance  of  having  any- 
thing else  to  swallow;  and  after  a  refreshing 
plunge  in  the  sea,  followed  the  hospitable  little 
fellow  to  Hypatia's  door,  where  he  dropped  his 


The  Interview  185 

daily  load  of  fruit,  and  then  into  a  narrow  by-street, 
to  the  ground-floor  of  a  huge  block  of  lodgings, 
with  a  common  staircase,  swarming  with  children, 
cats,  and  chickens ;  and  was  ushered  by  his  host 
into  a  little  room,  where  the  savory  smell  of  broil- 
ing fish  revived  Philammon's  heart. 

"  Judith  !  Judith  !  where  lingerest  thou  ?  Marble 
of  Pentel'cus  !  foam-flake  of  the  wine-dark  main ! 
lily  of  the  Mareotic  lake !  You  accursed  black 
Andromeda,  if  you  don't  bring  the  breakfast  this 
moment,  I  '11  cut  you  in  two  !  " 

The  inner  door  opened,  and  in  bustled,  trembling, 
her  hands  full  of  dishes,  a  tall  lithe  negress  dressed 
in  true  negro  fashion,  in  a  snow-white  cotton  shift, 
a  scarlet  cotton  petticoat,  and  a  bright  yellow 
turban  of  the  same,  making  a  light  in  that  dark 
place  which  would  have  served  as  a  landmark  a 
mile  off.  She  put  the  dishes  down,  and  the  porter 
majestically  waved  Philammon  to  a  stool;  while 
she  retreated,  and  stood  humbly  waiting  on  her 
lord  and  master,  who  did  not  deign  to  introduce  to 
his  guest  the  black  beauty  which  composed  his 
whole  seraglio.  .  .  .  But,  indeed,  such  an  act  of 
courtesy  would  have  been  needless ;  for  the  first 
morsel  of  fish  was  hardly  safe  in  poor  Philammon's 
mouth,  when  the  negress  rushed  upon  him,  caught 
him  by  the  head,  and  covered  him  with  rapturous 
kisses. 

Up  jumped  the  little  man  with  a  yell,  brandish- 
ing a  knife  in  one  hand  and  a  leek  in  the  other ; 
while  Philammon,  scarcely  less  scandalized,  jumped 
up  too,  and  shook  himself  free  of  the  lady,  who, 
finding  it  impossible  to  vent  her  feelings  further  on 
his  head,  instantly  changed  her  tactics,  and,  wal- 
lowing on  the  floor,  began  frantically  kissing  his  feet. 


1 86  Hypatia 

"  What  is  this?  before  my  face !  Up,  shameless 
baggage,  or  thou  diest  the  death  !  "  and  the  porter 
pulled  her  up  upon  her  knees. 

"  It  is  the  monk !  the  young  man  I  told  you  of, 
who  saved  me  from  the  Jews  the  other  night! 
What  good  angel  sent  him  here  that  I  might  thank 
him  ?  "  cried  the  poor  creature,  while  the  tears  ran 
down  her  black  shining  face. 

"  I  am  that  good  angel,"  said  the  porter,  with  a 
look  of  intense  self-satisfaction.  "  Rise,  daughter 
of  Erebus ;  thou  art  pardoned,  being  but  a  female. 
What  says  the  poet  ?  — 

44 '  Woman  is  passion's  slave,  while  rightful  lord 
O'er  her  and  passion,  rules  the  nobler  male.' 

Youth !  to  my  arms !  Truly  say  the  philosophers, 
that  the  universe  is  magical  in  itself,  and  by  mys- 
terious sympathies  links  like  to  like.  The  prophetic 
instinct  of  thy  future  benefits  towards  me  drew  me 
to  thee  as  by  an  invisible  warp,  hawser,  or  chain- 
cable,  from  the  moment  I  beheld  thee.  Thou  wert 
a  kindred  spirit,  my  brother,  though  thou  knewest 
it  not.  Therefore  I  do  not  praise  thee  —  no,  nor 
thank  thee  in  the  least,  though  thou  hast  preserved 
for  me  the  one  palm  which  shadows  my  weary 
steps  —  the  single  lotus-flower  (in  this  case  black, 
not  white)  which  blooms  for  me  above  the  mud- 
stained  ocean-wastes  of  the  Hylic  Borboros.  That 
which  thou  hast  done,  thou  hast  done  by  instinct 
—  by  divine  compulsion  —  thou  couldst  no  more 
help  it  than  thou  canst  help  eating  that  fish,  and 
art  no  more  to  be  praised  for  it." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Philammon. 

"  Comprehend  me.  Our  theory  in  the  schools 
for  such  cases  is  this  —  has  been  so  at  least  for  the 


The  Interview  187 

last  six  months ;  similar  particles,  from  one  origi- 
nal source,  exist  in  you  and  me.  Similar  causes 
produce  similar  effects ;  our  attractions,  antipathies, 
impulses,  are  therefore,  in  similar  circumstances, 
absolutely  the  same;  and  therefore  you  did  the 
other  night  exactly  what  I  should  have  done  in 
your  case." 

Philammon  thought  the  latter  part  of  the  theory 
open  to  question,  but  he  had  by  no  means  stopped 
eating  when  he  rose,  and  his  mouth  was  much  too 
full  offish  to  argue. 

"  And  therefore,"  continued  the  little  man,  "  we 
are  to  consider  ourselves  henceforth  as  one  soul  in 
two  bodies.  You  may  have  the  best  of  the  cor- 
poreal part  of  the  division  .  .  .  yet  it  is  the  soul 
which  makes  the  person.  You  may  trust  me,  I 
shall  not  disdain  my  brotherhood.  If  any  one 
insults  you  henceforth,  you  have  but  to  call  me ; 
and  if  I  be  within  hearing,  why,  by  this  right 
arm " 

And  he  attempted  a  pat  on  Philammon's  head, 
which,  as  there  was  a  head  and  shoulder's  dif- 
ference between  them,  might  on  the  whole  have 
been  considered,  from  a  theatric  point  of  view,  as 
a  failure.  Whereon  the  little  man  seized  the  cala- 
bash of  beer,  and  filling  therewith  a  cow's  horn,  his 
thumb  on  the  small  end,  raised  it  high  in  the  air. 

"  To  the  Tenth  Muse,  and  to  your  interview  with 
her ! " 

And  removing  his  thumb,  he  sent  a  steady  jet 
into  his  open  mouth,  and  having  drained  the  horn 
without  drawing  breath,  licked  his  lips,  handed  it 
to  Philammon,  and  flew  ravenously  upon  the  fish 
and  onions. 

Philammon,  to  whom  the  whole  was  supremely 


1 88  Hypatia 

absurd,  had  no  invocation  to  make,  but  one  which 
he  felt  too  sacred  for  his  present  temper  of  mind : 
so  he  attempted  to  imitate  the  little  man's  feat, 
and,  of  course,  poured  the  beer  into  his  eyes,  and 
up  his  nose,  and  in  his  bosom,  and  finally  choked 
himself  black  in  the  face,  while  his  host  observed, 
smilingly : 

"  Aha,  rustic !  unacquainted  with  the  ancient 
and  classical  customs  preserved  in  this  center  of 
civilization  by  the  descendants  of  Alexander's 
heroes?  Judith!  clear  the  table.  Now  to  the 
sanctuary  of  the  Muses !  " 

Philammon  rose,  and  finished  his  meal  by  a 
monkish  grace.  A  gentle  and  reverend  "  Amen  " 
rose  from  the  other  end  of  the  room.  It  was  the 
negress.  She  saw  him  look  up  at  her,  dropped  her 
eyes  modestly,  and  bustled  away  with  the  rem- 
nants, while  Philammon  and  his  host  started  for 
Hypatia's  lecture-room. 

"  Your  wife  is  a  Christian?  "  asked  he  when  they 
were  outside  the  door. 

"  Ahem !  The  barbaric  mind  is  prone  to 

superstition.  Yet  she  is,  being  but  a  woman 
and  a  negress,  a  good  soul,  and  thrifty,  though 
requiring,  like  all  lower  animals,  occasional  chas- 
tisement I  married  her  on  philosophic  grounds. 
A  wife  was  necessary  to  me,  for  several' reasons: 
but  mindful  that  the  philosopher  should  subjugate 
the  material  appetite,  and  rise  above  the  swinish 
desires  of  the  flesh,  even  when  his  nature  requires 
him  to  satisfy  them,  I  purposed  to  make  pleasure 
as  unpleasant  as  possible.  I  had  the  choice  of 
several  cripples  —  their  parents,  of  ancient  Mace- 
donian family  like  myself,  were  by  no  means 
adverse;  but  I  required  a  housekeeper,  with 


The  Interview  189 

whose  duties  the  want  of  an  arm  or  a  leg  might 
have  interfered." 

"Why  did  you  not  marry  a  scold?"  asked 
Philammon. 

"  Pertinently  observed :  and  indeed  the  example 
of  Socrates  rose  luminous  more  than  once  before 
my  imagination.  But  philosophic  calm,  my  dear 
youth,  and  the  peaceful  contemplation  of  the  in- 
effable? I  could  not  relinquish  those  luxuries. 
So  having,  by  the  bounty  of  Hypatia  and  her 
pupils,  saved  a  small  sum,  I  went  out,  bought  me 
a  negress,  and  hired  six  rooms  in  the  block  we 
have  just  left,  where  I  let  lodgings  to  young 
students  of  the  Divine  Philosophy." 

"  Have  you  any  lodgers  now?  " 

"  Ahem  !  Certain  rooms  are  occupied  by  a  lady 
of  rank.  The  philosopher  will,  above  all  things, 
abstain  from  babbling.  To  bridle  the  tongue,  is  to 

But  there  is  a  closet  at  your  service ;  and  for 

the  hall  of  reception,  which  you  have  just  left  — 
are  you  not  a  kindred  and  fraternal  spark  ?  We  can 
combine  our  meals,  as  our  souls  are  already  united.", 

Philammon  thanked  him  heartily  for  the  offer, 
though  he  shrank  from  accepting  it;  and  in  ten 
minutes  more  found  himself  at  the  door  of  the 
very  house  which  he  had  been  watching  the  night 
before.  It  was  she,  then,  whom  he  had  seen !  .  .  . 
He  was  handed  over  by  a  black  porter  to  a  smart 
slave-girl,  who  guided  him  up,  through  cloisters 
and  corridors,  to  the  large  library,  where  five  or 
six  young  men  were  sitting,  busily  engaged  under 
Theon's  superintendence,  in  copying  manuscripts 
and  drawing  geometric  diagrams. 

Philammon  gazed  curiously  at  these  symbols  of 
a  science  unknown  to  him,  and  wondered  whether 


1 90  Hypatia 

the  day  would  ever  come  when  he  too  would 
understand  their  mysteries ;  but  his  eyes  fell  again 
as  he  saw  the  youths  staring  at  his  ragged  sheep- 
skin and  matted  locks  with  undisguised  contempt 
He  could  hardly  collect  himself  enough  to  obey 
the  summons  of  the  venerable  old  man,  as  he 
beckoned  him  silently  out  of  the  room,  and  led 
him,  with  the  titters  of  the  young  students  ringing 
in  his  ears,  through  the  door  by  which  he  had 
entered,  and  along  a  gallery,  till  he  stopped  and 
knocked  humbly  at  a  door.  .  .  .  She  must  be 
within !  .  .  .  Now !  ...  At  last !  .  .  .  His  knees 
knocked  together  under  him.  His  heart  sank  and 
sank  into  abysses !  Poor  wretch !  .  .  .  He  was 
half-minded  once  to  escape  and  dash  into  the 
street  .  .  .  but  was  it  not  his  one  hope,  his 
one  object?  .  .  .  But  why  did  not  that  old  man 
speak?  If  he  would  have  but  said  something !  .  ,  . 
If  he  would  only  have  'looked  cross,  contempt- 
uous !  .  .  .  But  with  the  same  impressive  gravity 
as  of  a  man  upon  a  business  in  which  he  had  no 
voice,  and  wished  it  to  be  understood  that  he  had 
none,  the  old  man  silently  opened  the  door,  and 
Philammon  followed.  .  .  .  There  she  was !  looking 
more  glorious  than  ever ;  more  than  when  glowing 
with  the  enthusiasm  of  her  own  eloquence ;  more 
than  when  transfigured  last  night  in  golden  tresses 
and  glittering  moonbeams.  There  she  sat,  without 
moving  a  finger,  as  the  two  entered.  She  greeted 
her  father  with  a  smile,  which  made  up  for  all  her 
seeming  want  of  courtesy  to  him,  and  then  fixed 
her  large  gray  eyes  full  on  Philammon. 

"  Here  is  the  youth,  my  daughter.  It  was  your 
wish,  you  know;  and  I  always  believe  that  you 
know  best " 


The  Interview  191 

Another  smile  put  an  end  to  the  speech,  and 
the  old  man  retreated  humbly  toward  another 
door,  with  a  somewhat  anxious  visage,  and  then 
lingering  and  looking  back,  his  hand  upon  the 
latch : 

"  If  you  require  any  one,  you  know,  you  have 
only  to  call  —  we  shall  be  all  in  the  library." 

.Another  smile;  and  the  old  man  disappeared, 
leaving  the  two  alone. 

Philammon  stood  trembling,  choking,  his  eyes 
fixed  on  the  floor.  Where  were  all  the  fine  things 
he  had  conned  over  for  the  occasion?  He  dared 
not  look  up  at  that  face,  lest  it  should  drive  them 
out  of  his  head.  And  yet  the  more  he  kept  his 
eyes  turned  from  the  face,  the  more  he  was  conscious 
of  it,  conscious  that  it  was  watching  him ;  and  the 
more  all  the  fine  words  were,  by  that  very  knowl- 
edge, driven  out  of  his  head.  .  .  .  When  would  she 
speak  ?  Perhaps  she  wished  him  to  speak  first.  It 
was  her  duty  to  begin :  for  she  had  sent  for  him. 
.  .  .  But  still  she  kept  silence,  and  sat  scanning 
him  intently  from  head  to  foot,  herself  as  motion- 
less as  a  statue ;  her  hands  folded  together  before 
her,  over  the  manuscript  which  lay  upon  her  knee. 
If  there  was  a  blush  on  her  cheek  at  her  own 
daring,  his  eyes  swam  too  much  to  notice  it. 

When  would  the  intolerable  suspense  end  ?  She 
was,  perhaps,  as  unwilling  to  speak  as  he.  But 
some  one  must  strike  the  first  blow ;  and,  as  often 
happens,  the  weaker  party,  impelled  by  sheer  fear, 
struck  it,  and  broke  the  silence  in  a  tone  half 
indignant,  half  apologetic: 

"  You  sent  for  me  hither !  " 

"I  did.  It  seemed  to  me,  as  I  watched  you 
during  my  lecture,  both  before  and  after  you  were 


192  Hypatia 

rude  enough  to  interrupt  me,  that  your  offence 
was  one  of  mere  youthful  ignorance.  It  seemed  to 
me  that  your  countenance  bespoke  a  nobler  nature 
than  that  which  the  gods  are  usually  pleased  to 
bestow  upon  monks.  That  I  may  now  ascertain 
whether  or  not  my  surmises  were  correct,  I  ask  you 
for  what  purpose  are  you  come  hither?" 

Philammon  hailed  the  question  as  a  godsend.  — 
Now  for  his  message  !  And  yet  he  faltered,  as  he 
answered,  with  a  desperate  effort:  "To  rebuke 
you  for  your  sins." 

"My  sins!  What  sins?",  she  asked,  as  she 
looked  up  with  a  stately,  slow  surprise  in  those 
large  gray  eyes,  before  which  his  own  glance  sank 
abashed,  he  knew  not  why.  What  sins  ?  —  He 
knew  not.  Did  she  look  like  a  Messalina?  But 
was  she  not  a  heathen  and  a  sorceress  ?  —  And  yet 
he  blushed,  and  stammered,  and  hung  down  his 
head,  as,  shrinking  at  the  sound  of  his  own  words, 
he  replied: 

"  The  foul  sorceries  —  and  profligacy  worse  than 

sorceries,  in  which,  they  say "  He  could  get 

no  farther:  for  he  looked  up  again  and  saw  an 
awful  quiet  smile  upon  that  face.  His  words  had 
raised  no  blush  upon  the  marble  cheek. 

"  They  say !  The  bigots  and  slanderers ;  wild 
beasts  of  the  desert,  and  fanatic  intriguers,  who,  in 
the  words  of  Him  they  call  their  master,  compass 
heaven  and  earth  to  make  one  proselyte,  and  when 
they  have  found  him,  make  him  twofold  more  the 
child  of  hell  than  themselves.  Go  —  I  forgive  you : 
you  are  young,  and  know  not  yet  the  mystery  of 
the  world.  Science  will  teach  you  some  day  that 
the  outward  frame  is  the  sacrament  of  the  soul's 
inward  beauty.  Such  a  soul  I  had  fancied  your 


The  Interview  193 

face  expressed ;  but  I  was  mistaken.  Foul  hearts 
alone  harbor  such  foul  suspicions,  and  fancy 
others  to  be  what  they  know  they  might  become 

themselves.     Go  !    Do  I  look  like ?     The  very 

tapering  of  these  fingers,  if  you  could  read  their 
symbolism,  would  give  your  dream  the  lie."  And 
she  flashed  full  on  him,  like  sun-rays  from  a  mirror, 
the  full  radiance  of  her  glorious  countenance. 

Alas,  poor  Philammon !  where  were  thy  eloquent 
arguments,  thy  orthodox  theories  then?  Proudly 
he  struggled  with  his  own  man's  heart  of  flesh,  and 
tried  to  turn  his  eyes  away;  the  magnet  might  as 
well  struggle  to  escape  from  the  spell  of  the  north. 
In  a  moment,  he  knew  not  how,  utter  shame, 
remorse,  longing  for  forgiveness,  swept  over  him, 
and  crushed  him  down;  and  he  found  himself  on 
his  knees  before  her,  in  abject  and  broken  syllables 
entreating  pardon. 

"  Go  —  I  forgive  you.  But  know  before  you  go, 
that  the  celestial  milk  which  fell  from  Here's  bosom, 
bleaching  the  plant  which  it  touched  to  everlasting 
whiteness,  was  not  more  taintless  than  the  soul  of 
Theon's  daughter." 

He  looked  up  in  her  face  as  he  knelt  before  her. 
Unerring  instinct  told  him  that  her  words  were 
true.  He  was  a  monk,  accustomed  to  believe 
animal  sin  to  be  the  deadliest  and  worst  of  all  sins 
—  indeed,  "  the  great  offence  "  itself,  beside  which 
all  others  were  comparatively  venial :  where  there 
was  physical  purity,  must  not  all  other  virtues  follow 
in  its  wake?  All  other  failings  were  invisible  under 
the  dazzling  veil  of  that  great  loveliness ;  and  in 
his  self-abasement  he  went  on : 

"  Oh,  do  not  spurn  me  !  — do  not  drive  me  away  1 
I  have  neither  friend,  home,  nor  teacher.  I  fled 

J— Vol.  VI 


194  Hypatia 

last  night  from  the  men  of  my  own  faith,  maddened 
by  bitter  insult  and  injustice  —  disappointed  and 
disgusted  with  their  ferocity,  narrowness,  ignorance. 
I  dare  not,  I  cannot,  I  will  not  return  to  the 
obscurity  and  the  dulness  of  a  Thebaid  Laura.  I 
have  a  thousand  doubts  to  solve,  a  thousand 
questions  to  ask,  about  that  great  ancient  world  of 
which  I  know  nothing  —  of  whose  mysteries,  they 
say,  you  alone  possess  the  key !  I  am  a  Christian ; 
but  I  thirst  for  knowledge.  ...  I  do  not  promise 
to  believe  you  —  I  do  not  promise  to  obey  you ; 
but  let  me  hear !  Teach  me  what  you  know,  that 
I  may  compare  it  with  what  I  know.  ...  If  in- 
deed "  (and  he  shuddered  as  he  spoke  the  words) 
"  I  do  know  anything !  " 

"  Have  you  forgotten  the  epithets  which  you 
used  to  me  just  now  ?  " 

"  No,  no  !  But  do  you  forget  them ;  they  were 
put  into  my  mouth.  I  —  I  did  not  believe  them 
when  I  said  them.  It  was  agony  to  me ;  but  I  did 
it,  as  I  thought,  for  your  sake  —  to  save  you.  Ohr 
say  that  I  may  come  and  hear  you  again  !  Only 
from  a  distance  —  in  the  very  farthest  corner  of 
your  lecture-room.  I  will  be  silent;  you  shall 
never  see  me.  But  your  words  yesterday  awoke  in 
me  —  no,  not  doubts ;  but  still  I  must,  I  must  hear 
more,  or  be  as  miserable  and  homeless  inwardly  as 
I  am  in  my  outward  circumstances !  "  And  he 
looked  up  imploringly  for  consent. 

"Rise.  This  passion  and  that  attitude  are  fit- 
ting neither  for  you  nor  me." 

And  as  Philammon  rose,  she  rose  also,  went  into 
the  library  to  her  father,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
returned  with  him. 

"  Come  with  me,  young  man,"  said  he,  laying 


The  Interview  195 

his  hand  kindly  enough  on  Philammon's  shoulder. 
..."  The  rest  of  this  matter  you  and  I  can  settle ;  " 
and  Philammon  followed  him,  not  daring  to  look 
back  at  Hypatia,  while  the  whole  room  swam 
before  his  eyes. 

"  So,  so  I  hear  you  have  been  saying  rude 
things  to  my  daughter.  Well,  she  has  forgiven 
you " 

"Has  she?"  asked  the  young  monk,  with  an 
eager  start. 

"  Ah !  you  may  well  look  astonished.  But  I 
forgive  you  too.  It  is  lucky  for  you,  however, 
that  I  did  not  hear  you,  or  else,  old  man  as  I  am, 
I  can't  say  what  I  might  not  have  done.  Ah ! 
you  little  know,  you  little  know  what  she  is !  "  — 
and  the  old  pedant's  eyes  kindled  with  loving 
pride.  "  May  the  gods  give  you  some  day  such  a 
daughter  !  —  that  is,  if  you  learn  to  deserve  it  —  as 
virtuous  as  she  is  wise,  as  wise  as  she  is  beautiful. 
Truly,  they  have  repaid  me  for  my  labors  in  their 
service.  Look,  young  man !  little  as  you  merit 
it,  here  is  a  pledge  of  your  forgiveness,  such  as  the 
richest  and  noblest  in  Alexandria  are  glad  to  pur- 
chase with  many  an  ounce  of  gold  —  a  ticket  of 
free  admission  to  all  her  lectures  henceforth ! 
Now  go;  you  have  been  favored  beyond  your 
deserts,  and  should  learn  that  the  philosopher 
can  practise  what  the  Christian  only  preaches, 
and  return  good  for  evil."  And  he  put  into 
Philammon's  hand  a  slip  of  paper,  and  bid 
one  of  the  secretaries  show  him  to  the  outer 
door. 

The  youths  looked  up  at  him  from  their  writing 
as  he  passed,  with  faces  of  surprise  and  awe,  and 
evidently  thinking  no  more  about  the  absurdity  of 


1 96  Hypatia 

his  sheepskin  and  his  tanned  complexion ;  and  he 
went  out  with  a  stunned,  confused  feeling,  as  of 
one  who,  by  a  desperate  leap,  has  plunged  into  a 
new  world.  He  tried  to  feel  content ;  but  he  dare 
not.  All  before  him  was  anxiety,  uncertainty. 
He  had  cut  himself  adrift ;  he  was  on  the  great 
stream.  Whither  would  it  lead  him  ?  Well  —  was 
it  not  the  great  stream?  Had  not  all  mankind, 
for  all  the  ages,  been  floating  on  it?  Or,  was  it 
but  a  desert-river,  dwindling  away  beneath  the 
fiery  sun,  destined  to  lose  itself  a  few  miles  on, 
among  the  arid  sands?  Were  Arsenius  and  the 
faith  of  his  childhood  right?  And  was  the  Old 
World  coming  speedily  to  its  death-throe,  and  the 
Kingdom  of  God  at  hand  ?  Or,  was  Cyril  right, 
and  the  Church  Catholic  appointed  to  spread,  and 
conquer,  and  destroy,  and  rebuild,  till  the  kingdoms 
of  this  world  had  become  the  kingdoms  of  God 
and  of  His  Christ !  If  so,  what  use  in  this  old 
knowledge  which  he  craved?  And  yet,  if  the 
day  of  the  destruction  of  all  things  were  at 
hand,  and  the  times  destined  to  become  worse 
and  not  better,  till  the  end  —  how  could  that 
be?  ... 

"  What  news  ?  "  asked  the  little  porter,  who  had 
been  waiting  for  him  at  the  door  all  the  while. 
"  What  news,  O  favorite  of  the  gods !  " 

"  I  will  lodge  with  you,  and  labor  with 
you.  Ask  me  no  more  at  present.  I  am  —  I 
am " 

"  Those  who  descended  into  the  Cave  of  Tro- 
phonius,  and  beheld  the  unspeakable,  remained 
astonished  for  three  days,  my  young  friend  —  and 
so  will  you !  "  And  they  went  forth  together  to 
earn  their  bread. 


The  Interview  197 

But  what  is  Hypatia  doing  all  this  while,  upon 
that  cloudy  Olympus,  where  she  sits  enshrined  far 
above  the  noise  and  struggle  of  man  and  his  work- 
day world? 

She  is  sitting  again,  with  her  manuscripts  open 
before  her :  but  she  is  thinking  of  the  young  monk, 
not  of  them. 

"  Beautiful  as  Antinous !  .  .  .  Rather  as  the 
young  Phoebus  himself,  fresh  glowing  from  the 
slaughter  of  the  Python.  Why  should  not  he, 
too,  become  a  slayer  of  Pythons,  and  loathsome 
monsters,  bred  from  the  mud  of  sense  and  matter? 
So  bold  and  earnest !  I  can  forgive  him  those 
words  for  the  very  fact  of  his  having  dared,  here 
in  my  father's  house,  to  say  them  to  me.  .  .  .  And 
yet  so  tender,  so  open  to  repentance  and  noble 
shame  !  —  That  is  no  plebeian  by  birth ;  patrician 
blood  surely  flows  in  those  veins ;  it  shows  out  in 
every  attitude,  every  tone,  every  motion  of  the 
hand  and  lip.  He  cannot  be  one  of  the  herd. 
Who  ever  knew  one  of  them  crave  after  knowl- 
edge for  its  own  sake?  .  .  .  And  I  have  longed 
so  for  one  real  pupil !  I  have  longed  so  to  find 
one  such  man,  among  the  effeminate  selfish  triflers 
who  pretend  to  listen  to  me.  I  thought  I  had 
found  one  —  and  the  moment  that  I  had  lost  him, 
behold,  I  find  another ;  and  that  a  fresher,  purer, 
simpler  nature  than  ever  Raphael's  was  at  its  best. 
By  all  the  laws  of  physiognomy  —  by  all  the  sym- 
bolism of  gesture  and  voice  and  complexion  —  by 
the  instinct  of  my  own  heart,  that  young  monk 
might  be  the  instrument,  the  ready,  valiant,  obedi- 
ent instrument,  for  carrying  out  all  my  dreams.  If 
I  could  but  train  him  into  a  Longinus,  I  could 
dare  to  play  the  part  of  a  Zenobia,  with  him  as 


198  Hypatia 

counsellor.  .  .  .  And  for  my  Odenatus  —  Orestes? 
Horrible !  " 

She  covered  her  face  with  her  hand  a  minute. 
"  No !  "  she  said,  dashing  away  the  tears  —  "  That 
—  and  anything —  and  everything  for  the  cause  of 
Philosophy  and  the  gods !  " 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  LAURA  AGAIN 

NOT  a  sound,  not  a  moving  object,  broke  the 
utter  stillness  of  the  glen  of  Scetis.  The 
shadows  of  the  crags,  though  paling  every  moment 
before  the  spreading  dawn,  still  shrouded  all  the 
gorge  in  gloom.  A  winding  line  of  haze  slept 
above  the  course  of  the  rivulet.  The  plumes  of 
the  palm-trees  hung  motionless,  as  if  awaiting  in 
resignation  the  breathless  blaze  of  the  approach- 
ing day.  At  length,  among  the  green  ridges  of 
the  monastery  garden,  two  gray  figures  rose  from 
their  knees,  and  began,  with  slow  and  feeble 
strokes,  to  break  the  silence  by  the  clatter  of 
their  hoes  among  the  pebbles. 

"  These  beans  grow  wonderfully,  brother  Aufu- 
gus.  We  shall  be  able  to  sow  our  second  crop, 
by  God's  blessing,  a  week  earlier  than  we  did  last 
year." 

The  person  addressed  returned  no  answer ;  and 
his  companion,  after  watching  him  for  some  time 
in  silence,  recommenced : 

"What  is  it,  my  brother?  I  have  remarked 
lately  a  melancholy  about  you,  which  is  hardly 
fitting  for  a  man  of  God." 

A  deep  sigh  was  the  only  answer.  The  speaker 
laid  down  his  hoe,  and  placing  his  hand  affection- 
ately on  the  shoulder  of  Aufugus,  asked  again : 


2oo  Hypatia 

"  What  is  it,  my  friend  ?  I  will  not  claim  with 
you  my  abbot's  right  to  know  the  secrets  of  your 
heart :  but  surely  that  breast  hides  nothing  which 
is  unworthy  to  be  spoken  to  me,  however  un- 
worthy I  may  be  to  hear  it !  " 

"  Why  should  I  not  be  sad,  Pambo,  my  friend  ? 
Does  not  Solomon  say  that  there  is  a  time  for 
mourning?" 

"  True :  but  a  time  for  mirth  also." 
'  "  None  to  the  penitent,  burdened  with  the  guilt 
of  many  sins." 

"  Recollect  what  the  blessed  Anthony  used  to 
say :  '  Trust  not  in  thine  own  righteousness,  and 
regret  not  that  which  is  past.' " 

"  I  do  neither,  Pambo." 

"  Do  not  be  too  sure  of  that.  Is  it  not  because 
thou  art  still  trusting  in  thyself,  that  thou  dost 
regret  the  past,  which  shows  thee  that  thou  art 
not  that  which  thou  wouldst  gladly  pride  thyself 
on  being?" 

"  Pambo,  my  friend,"  said  Arsenius,  solemnly, 
"  I  will  tell  thee  all.  My  sins  are  not  yet  past ; 
for  Honorius,  my  pupil,  still  lives,  and  in  him  lives 
the  weakness  and  the  misery  of  Rome.  My  sins 
past?  If  they  are,  why  do  I  see  rising  before  me, 
night  after  night,  that  train  of  accusing  spectres, 
ghosts  of  men  slain  in  battle,  widows  and  orphans, 
virgins  of  the  Lord  shrieking  in  the  grasp  of  bar- 
barians, who  stand  by  my  bedside  and  cry, '  Hadst 
thou  done  thy  duty,  we  had  not  been  thus ! 
Where  is  that  imperial  charge  which  God  com- 
mitted to  thee ? '"  .  .  .  And  the  old  man  hid  his 
face  in  his  hands  and  wept  bitterly. 

Pambo  laid  his  hand  again  tenderly  on  the 
weeper's  shoulder. 


The  Laura  Again  201 

"Is  there  no  pride  here,  my  brother?  Who 
art  thou,  to  change  the  fate  of  nations  and  the 
hearts  of  emperors,  which  are  in  the  hand  of  the 
King  of  kings ;  If  thou  wert  weak,  and  imperfect 
in  thy  work  —  for  unfaithful,  I  will  warrant  thee, 
thou  wert  never  —  He  put  thee  there,  because 
thou  wert  imperfect,  that  so  that  which  has  come 
to  pass  might  come  to  pass;  and  thou  bearest 
thine  own  burden  only — and  yet  not  thou,  but 
He  who  bore  it  for  thee." 

"  Why  then  am  I  tormented  by  these  nightly 
visions?  " 

"Fear  them  not,  friend.  They  are  spirits  of 
evil,  and  therefore  lying  spirits.  Were  they  good 
spirits  they  would  speak  to  thee  only  in  pity,  for- 
giveness, encouragement.  But  be  they  ghosts  or 
demons,  they  must  be  evil,  because  they  are  ac- 
cusers, like  the  Evil  One  himself,  the  accuser  of 
the  saints.  He  is  the  father  of  lies,  and  his  chil- 
dren will  be  like  himself.  What  said  the  blessed 
Anthony?  That  a  monk  should  not  busy  his 
brain  with  painting  spectres,  or  give  himself  up 
for  lost ;  but  rather  be  cheerful,  as  one  who  knows 
that  he  is  redeemed,  and  in  the  hands  of  the  Lord, 
where  the  Evil  One  has  no  power  to  hurt  him. 
'  For,'  he  used  to  say,  '  the  demons  behaved  to  us 
even  as  they  find  us.  If  they  see  us  cast  down 
and  faithless,  they  terrify  us  still  more,  that  they 
may  plunge  us  in  despair.  But  if  they  see  us 
full  of  faith,  and  joyful  in  the  Lord,  with  our  souls 
filled  with  the  glory  which  shall  be,  then  they 
shrink  abashed,  and  flee  away  in  confusion.' 
Cheer  up,  friend  !  such  thoughts  are  of  the  night, 
the  hour  of  Satan  and  of  the  powers  of  darkness ; 
and  with  the  dawn  they  flee  away." 


2O2  Hypatia 

"  And  yet  things  are  revealed  to  men  upon 
their  beds,  in  visions  of  the  night." 

"Be  it  so.  Nothing,  at  all  events,  has  been 
revealed  to  thee  upon  thy  bed,  except  that  which 
thou  knowest  already  far  better  than  Satan  does, 
namely,  that  thou  art  a  sinner.  But  for  me,  my 
friend,  though  I  doubt  not  that  such  things  are, 
it  is  the  day,  and  not  the  night,  which  brings 
revelations." 

"How,  then?" 

"  Because  by  day  I  can  see  to  read  that  book 
which  is  written,  like  the  Law  given  on  Sinai,  upon 
tables  of  stone,  by  the  finger  of  God  himself." 

Arsenius  looked  up  at  him  inquiringly.  Pambo 
smiled. 

"Thou  knowest  that,  like  many  holy  men  of 
old,  I  am  no  scholar,  and  knew  not  even  the  Greek 
tongue,  till  thou,  out  of  thy  brotherly  kindness, 
taughtest  it  to  me.  But  hast  thou  never  heard 
what  Anthony  said  to  a  certain  Pagan  who  re- 
proached him  with  his  ignorance  of  books? 
'Which  is  first,'  he  asked,  'spirit,  or  letter?  — 
Spirit,  sayest  thou?  Then  know,  the  healthy 
spirit  needs  no  letters.  My  book  is  the  whole 
creation,  lying  open  before  me,  wherein  I  can 
read,  whensoever  I  please,  the  word  of  God.'  " 

"  Dost  thou  not  undervalue  learning,  my  friend  ?  " 

"  I  am  old  among  monks,  and  have  seen  much 
of  their  ways;  and  among  them  my  simplicity 
seems  to  have  seen  this  —  many  a  man  wearing 
himself  with  study,  and  tormenting  his  soul  as 
to  whether  he  believed  rightly  this  doctrine  and 
that,  while  he  knew  not  with  Solomon  that  in 
much  learning  is  much  sorrow,  and  that  while  he 
was  puzzling  at  the  letter  of  God's  message,  the 


The  Laura  Again  203 

spirit  of  it  was  going  fast  and  faster  out  of 
him." 

"And  how  didst  thou  know  that  of  such  a 
man?" 

"By  seeing  him  become  a  more  and  more 
learned  theologian,  and  more  and  more  zealous 
for  the  letter  of  orthodoxy ;  and  yet  less  and  less 
loving  and  merciful  —  less  and  less  full  of  trust  in 
God,  and  of  hopeful  thoughts  for  himself  and  for 
his  brethren,  till  he  seemed  to  have  darkened  his 
whole  soul  with  disputations,  which  breed  only 
strife,  and  to  have  forgotten  utterly  the  message 
which  is  written  in  that  book  wherewith  the  blessed 
Anthony  was  content." 

"  Of  what  message  dost  thou  speak  ?  " 

"  Look,"  said  the  old  abbot,  stretching  his  hand 
toward  the  Eastern  desert,  "  and  judge,  like  a  wise 
man,  for  thyself! " 

As  he  spoke,  a  long  arrow  of  level  light  flashed 
down  the  gorge  from  crag  to  crag,  awakening 
every  crack  and  slab  to  vividness  and  life.  The 
great  crimson  sun  rose  swiftly  through  the  dim 
night-mist  of  the  desert,  and  as  he  poured  his 
glory  down  the  glen,  the  haze  rose  in  threads  and 
plumes,  and  vanished,  leaving  the  stream  to  sparkle 
round  the  rocks,  like  the  living,  twinkling  eye  of 
the  whole  scene.  Swallows  flashed  by  hundreds 
out  of  the  cliffs,  and  began  their  air-dance  for  the 
day;  the  jerboa  hopped  stealthily  homeward  on 
his  stilts  from  his  stolen  meal  in  the  monastery 
garden;  the  brown  sand-lizards  underneath  the 
stones  opened  one  eyelid  each,  and  having  satisfied 
themselves  that  it  was  day,  dragged  their  bloated 
bodies  and  whip-like  tails  out  into  the  most  burn- 
ing patch  of  gravel  which  they  could  find,  and 


204  Hypatia 

nestling  together  as  a  further  protection  against 
cold,  fell  fast  asleep  again ;  the  buzzard,  who  con- 
sidered himself  lord  of  the  valley,  awoke  with  a 
long  querulous  bark,  and  rising  aloft  in  two  or 
three  vast  rings,  to  stretch  himself  after  his  night's 
sleep,  hung  motionless,  watching  every  lark  which 
chirruped  on  the  cliffs ;  while  from  the  far-off  Nile 
below,  the  awakening  croak  of  pelicans,  the  clang 
of  geese,  the  whistle  of  the  godwit  and  curlew, 
came  ringing  up  the  windings  of  the  glen;  and 
last  of  all  the  voices  of  the  monks  rose  chanting  a 
morning  hymn  to  some  wild  Eastern  air;  and  a 
new  day  had  begun  in  Scetis,  like  those  which 
went  before,  and  those  which  were  to  follow  after, 
week  after  week,  year  after  year,  of  toil  and  prayer 
as  quiet  as  its  sleep. 

"  What  does  that  teach  thee,  Aufugus,  my  friend  ?  " 

Arsenius  was  silent. 

"  To  me  it  teaches  this :  that  God  is  light,  and 
in  Him  is  no  darkness  at  all.  That  in  His  presence 
is  life,  and  fulness  of  joy  for  evermore.  That  He 
is  the  giver,  who  delights  in  His  own  bounty ;  the 
lover,  whose  mercy  is  over  all  His  works —  and  why 
not  over  thee,  too,  O  thou  of  little  faith  ?  Look  at 
those  thousand  birds  —  and  without  our  Father 
not  one  of  them  shall  fall  to  the  ground :  and  art 
thou  not  of  more  value  than  many  sparrows,  thou 
for  whom  God  sent  his  Son  to  die  ?  .  .  .  Ah,  my 
friend,  we  must  look  out  and  around  to  see  what 
God  is  like.  It  is  when  we  persist  in  turning  our 
eyes  inward,  and  prying  curiously  over  our  own 
imperfections,  that  we  learn  to  make  a  God  after 
our  own  image,  and  fancy  that  our  own  darkness 
and  hardness  of  heart  are  the  patterns  of  His  light 
and  love." 


The  Laura  Again  205 

"  Thou  speakest  rather  as  a  philosopher  than  as 
a  penitent  Catholic.  For  me,  I  feel  that  I  want  to 
look  more,  and  not  less,  inward.  Deeper  self- 
examination,  completer  abstraction,  than  I  can 
attain  even  here,  are  what  I  crave  for.  I  long  — 
forgive  me,  my  friend  —  but  I  long  more  and 
more,  daily,  for  the  solitary  life.  This  earth  is 
accursed  by  man's  sin:  the  less  we  see  of  it,  it 
seems  to  me,  the  better." 

"  I  may  speak  as  a  philosopher,  or  as  a  heathen, 
for  aught  I  know :  yet  it  seems  to  me  that,  as  they 
say,  the 'half  loaf  is  better  than  none;  that  the 
wise  man  will  make  the  best  of  what  he  has,  and 
throw  away  no  lesson  because  the  book  is  some- 
what torn  and  soiled.  The  earth  teaches  me  thus 
far  already.  Shall  I  shut  my  eyes  to  those  in- 
visible things  of  God  which  are  clearly  manifested 
by  the  things  which  are  made,  because  some  day 
they  will  be  more  clearly  manifested  than  now? 
But  as  for  more  abstraction,  are  we  so  worldly  here 
in  Scetis?  " 

"  Nay,  my  friend,  each  man  has  surely  his  voca- 
tion, and  for  each  some  peculiar  method  of  life  is 
more  edifying  than  another.  In  my  case,  the 
habits  of  mind  which  I  acquired  in  the  world  will 
cling  to  me  in  spite  of  myself  even  here.  I  cannot 
help  watching  the  doings  of  others,  studying  their 
characters,  planning  and  plotting  for  them,  trying 
to  prognosticate  their  future  fate.  Not  a  word, 
not  a  gesture  of  this  our  little  family,  but  turns 
away  my  mind  from  the  one  thing  needful." 

"  And  do  you  fancy  that  the  anchorite  in  his 
cell  has  fewer  distractions  ? " 

"  What  can  he  have  but  the  supply  of  the  mere 
necessary  wants  of  life  ?  and  them,  even,  he  may 


206  Hypatia 

abridge  to  the  gathering  of  a  few  roots  and  herbs. 
Men  have  lived  like  the  beasts  already,  that  they 
might  at  the  same  time  live  like  the  angels  —  and 
why  should  not  I  also  ?  " 

"  And  thou  art  the  wise  man  of  the  world  —  the 
student  of  the  hearts  of  others  —  the  anatomizer  of 
thine  own?  Hast  thou  not  found  out  that,  besides 
a  craving  stomach,  man  carries  with  him  a  corrupt 
heart?  Many  a  man  I  have  seen  who,  in  his  haste 
to  fly  from  the  fiends  without  him,  has  forgotten 
to  close  the  door  of  his  heart  against  worse  fiends 
who  were  ready  to  harbor  within  him.  Many  a 
monk,  friend,  changes  his  place,  but  not  the 
anguish  of  his  soul.  I  have  known  those  who, 
driven  to  feed  on  their  own  thoughts  in  solitude, 
have  desperately  cast  themselves  from  cliffs  or 
ripped  up  their  own  bodies,  in  the  longing  to 
escape  from  thoughts,  from  which  one  companion, 
one  kindly  voice,  might  have  delivered  them.  I 
have  known  those,  too,  who  have  been  so  puffed 
up  by  those  very  penances  which  were  meant  to 
humble  them,  that  they  have  despised  all  means 
of  grace,  as  though  they  were  already  perfect,  and 
refusing  even  the  Holy  Eucharist,  have  lived  in 
self-glorying  dreams  and  visions  suggested  by  the 
evil  spirits.  One  such  I  knew,  who,  in  the  mad- 
ness of  his  pride,  refused  to  be  counselled  by  any 
mortal  man  —  saying  that  he  would  call  no  man 
master:  and  what  befell  him?  He  who  used  to 
pride  himself  on  wandering  a  day's  journey  into 
the  desert  without  food  or  drink,  who  boasted  that 
he  could  sustain  life  for  three  months  at  a  time 
only  on  wild  herbs  and  the  Blessed  Bread,  seized 
with  an  inward  fire,  fled  from  his  cell  back  to  the 
theatres,  the  circus,  and  the  taverns,  and  ended 


The  Laura  Again  207 

his  miserable  days  in  desperate  gluttony,  holding 
all  things  to  be  but  phantasms,  denying  his  own 
existence,  and  that  of  God  himself." 

Arsenius  shook  his  head. 

"  Be  it  so.  But  my  case  is  different.  I  have  yet 
more  to  confess,  my  friend.  Day  by  day  I  am 
more  and  more  haunted  by  the  remembrance  of 
that  world  from  which  I  fled.  I  know  that  if  I 
returned  I  should  feel  no  pleasure  in  those  pomps, 
which,  even  while  I  battened  on  them,  I  despised. 
Can  I  hear  any  more  the  voice  of  singing  men  and 
singing  women ;  or  discern  any  longer  what  I  eat 
or  what  I  drink  ?  And  yet  —  the  palaces  of  those 
seven  hills,  their  statesmen  and  their  generals,  their 
intrigues,  their  falls,  and  their  triumphs  —  for  they 
might  rise  and  conquer  yet !  —  for  no  moment  are 
they  out  of  my  imagination, —  no  moment  in  which 
they  are  not  tempting  me  back  to  them,  like  a 
moth  to  the  candle  which  has  already  scorched 
him,  with  a  dreadful  spell,  which  I  must  at  last  obey, 
wretch  that  I  am,  against  my  own  will,  or  break  by 
fleeing  into  some  outer  desert,  from  whence  return 
will  be  impossible  !  " 

Pambo  smiled. 

"  Again,  I  say,  this  is  the  worldly-wise  man,  the 
searcher  of  hearts  !  And  he  would  fain  flee  from 
the  little  Laura,  which  does  turn  his  thoughts  at 
times  from  such  vain  dreams,  to  a  solitude  where 
he  will  be  utterly  unable  to  escape  those  dreams. 
Well,  friend !  —  and  what  if  thou  art  troubled  at 
times  by  anxieties  and  schemes  for  this  brother 
and  for  that?  Better  to  be  anxious  for  others  than 
only  for  thyself.  Better  to  have  something  to  love 
—  even  something  to  weep  over  —  than  to  become 
in  some  lonely  cavern  thine  own  world,  —  perhaps, 


208  Hypatia 

as  more  than  one  whom  I  have  known,  thine  own 
God." 

"Do  you  know  what  you  are  saying?"  asked 
Arsenius  in  a  startled  tone. 

"  I  say,  that  by  fleeing  into  solitude  a  man  cuts 
himself  off  from  all  which  makes  a  Christian  man ; 
from  law,  obedience,  fellow-help,  self-sacrifice  — 
from  the  communion  of  saints  itself." 

"How  then?" 

"  How  canst  thou  hold  communion  with  those 
toward  whom  thou  canst  show  no  love?  And 
how  canst  thou  show  thy  love  but  by  works  of 
love?" 

"  I  can,  at  least,  pray  day  and  night  for  all  man- 
kind. Has  that  no  place  —  or  rather,  has  it  not 
the  mightiest  place —  in  the  communion  of  saints?  " 

"  He  who  cannot  pray  for  his  brothers  whom  he 
does  see,  and  whose  sins  and  temptations  he  knows, 
will  pray  but  dully,  my  friend  Aufugus,  for  his 
brothers  whom  he  does  not  see,  or  for  anything 
else.  And  he  who  will  not  labor  for  his  brothers, 
the  same  will  soon  cease  to  pray  for  them,  or  love 
them  either.  And  then,  what  is  written  ?  '  If  a 
man  love  not  his  brother  whom  he  hath  seen,  how 
will  he  love  God  whom  he  hath  not  seen  ? ' " 

"Again,  I  say,  do  you  know  whither  your 
argument  leads?  " 

"  I  am  a  plain  man,  and  know  nothing  about 
arguments.  If  a  thing  be  true,  let  it  lead  where  it 
will,  for  it  leads  where  God  wills." 

"  But  at  this  rate,  it  were  better  for  a  man  to  take 
a  wife,  and  have  children,  and  mix  himself  up  in  all 
the  turmoil  of  carnal  affections,  in  order  to  have  as 
many  as  possible  to  love,  and  fear  for,  and  work 
for." 


The  Laura  Again  209 

Pambo  was  silent  for  a  while. 

"  I  am  a  monk  and  no  logician.  But  this  I  say, 
that  thou  leavest  not  the  Laura  for  the  desert  with 
my  good  will.  I  would  rather,  had  I  my  wish,  see 
thy  wisdom  installed  somewhere  nearer  the  metrop- 
olis —  at  Troe  or  Canopus,  for  example  —  where 
thou  mighest  be  at  hand  to  fight  the  Lord's  battles. 
Why  wert  thou  taught  worldly  wisdom,  but  to  use 
it  for  the  good  of  the  Church?  It  is  enough.  Let 
us  go." 

And  the  two  old  men  walked  homeward  across 
the  valley,  little  guessing  the  practical  answer  which 
was  ready  for  their  argument  in  Abbot  Pambo's 
cell,  in  the  shape  of  a  tall  and  grim  ecclesiastic,  who 
was  busily  satisfying  his  hunger  with  dates  and 
millet,  and  by  no  means  refusing  the  palm-wine, 
the  sole  delicacy  of  the  monastery,  which  had  been 
brought  forth  only  in  honor  of  a  guest. 

The  stately  and  courteous  hospitality  of  Eastern 
manners,  as  well  as  the  self- restraining  kindliness 
of  monastic  Christianity,  forbade  the  abbot  to 
interrupt  the  stranger ;  and  it  was  not  till  he  had 
finished  a  hearty  meal  that  Pambo  asked  his  name 
and  errand. 

"  My  unworthiness  is  called  Peter  the  Reader. 
I  come  from  Cyril,  with  letters  and  messages  to  the 
brother  Aufugus." 

Pambo  rose,  and  bowed  reverentially. 

"  We  have  heard  your  good  report,  sir,  as  of  one 
zealously  affected  in  the  cause  of  the  Church 
Catholic.  Will  it  please  you  to  follow  us  to  the 
cell  of  Aufugus?" 

Peter  stalked  after  them  with  a  sufficiently  im- 
portant air  to  the  little  hut,  and  there  taking  from 
his  bosom  Cyril's  epistle,  handed  it  to  Arsenius, 


210  Hypatia 

who  sat  long,  reading  and  re-reading  with  a 
clouded  brow,  while  Pambo  watched  him  with 
simple  awe,  not  daring  to  interrupt  by  a  question 
lucubrations  which  he  considered  of  unfathomable 
depth. 

"  These  are  indeed  the  last  days,"  said  Arsenius, 
at  length,  "  spoken  of  by  the  prophet,  when  many 
shall  run  to  and  fro.  So  Heraclian  has  actually 
sailed  for  Italy?" 

"  His  armament  was  met  on  the  high  seas  by 
Alexandrian  merchantmen,  three  weeks  ago." 

"And  Orestes  hardens  his  heart  more  and 
more  ?  " 

"  Ay,  Pharaoh  that  he  is ;  or  rather,  the  heathen 
woman  hardens  it  for  him." 

"  I  always  feared  that  woman  above  all  the 
schools  of  the  heathen,"  said  Arsenius.  "  But  the 
Count  Heraclian,  whom  I  always  held  for  the 
wisest  as  well  as  the  most  righteous  of  men ! 
Alas !  —  alas !  what  virtue  will  withstand,  when 
ambition  enters  the  heart !  " 

"  Fearful,  truly,"  said  Peter,  "  is  that  same  lust 
of  power:  but  for  him,  I  have  never  trusted  him 
since  he  began  to  be  indulgent  to  those  Donatists." 

"Too  true.     So  does  one  sin  beget  another." 

"And  I  consider  that  indulgence  to  sinners  is 
the  worst  of  all  sins  whatsoever." 

"Not  of  all,  surely,  reverend  sir?"  said  Pambo, 
humbly.  But  Peter,  taking  no  notice  of  the  inter- 
ruption, went  on  to  Arsenius : 

"  And  now,  what  answer  am  I  to  bear  back 
from  your  wisdom  to  his  holiness?" 

"  Let  me  see  —  let  me  see.  He  might  —  it 
needs  consideration  —  I  ought  to  know  more  of 
the  state  of  parties.  He  has,  of  course,  communi- 


The  Laura  Again  211 

cated  with  the  African  bishops,  and  tried  to  unite 
them  with  him  ?  " 

"  Two  months  ago.  But  the  stiff-necked  schis- 
matics are  still  jealous  of  him,  and  hold  aloof." 

"  Schismatics  is  too  harsh  a  term,  my  friend. 
But  has  he  sent  to  Constantinople?" 

"  He  needs  a  messenger  accustomed  to  courts. 
It  was  possible,  he  thought,  that  your  experience 
might  undertake  the  mission." 

"  Me  ?  Who  am  I  ?  Alas !  alas  !  fresh  tempta- 
tion daily  !  Let  him  send  by  the  hand  of  whom 
he  will.  .  .  .  And  yet  —  were  I  —  at  least  in 
Alexandria  —  I  might  advise  from  day  to  day.  .  .  . 
I  should  certainly  see  my  way  clearer.  .  .  .  And 
unforeseen  chances  might  arise,  too.  .  .  .  Pambo, 
my  friend,  thinkest  thou  that  it  would  be  sinful  to 
obey  the  Holy  Patriarch  ?  " 

"  Aha !  "  said  Pambo,  laughing,  "  and  thou  art 
he  who  was  for  fleeing  into  the  desert  an  hour 
agone !  And  now,  when  once  thou  smellest  the 
battle  afar  off,  thou  art  pawing  in  the  valley,  like 
the  old  war-horse.  Go,  and  God  be  with  thee ! 
Thou  wilt  be  none  the  worse  for  it.  Thou  art  too 
old  to  fall  in  love,  too  poor  to  buy  a  bishopric, 
and  too  righteous  to  have  one  given  thee." 

"  Art  thou  in  earnest?  " 

"  What  did  I  say  to  thee  in  the  garden  ?  Go, 
and  see  our  son,  and  send  me  news  of  him." 

"  Ah !  shame  on  my  worldly-mindedness !  I  had 
forgotten  all  this  time  to  inquire  for  him.  How  is 
the  youth,  reverend  sir?  " 

"  Whom  do  you  mean?  " 

"  Philammon,  our  spiritual  son,  whom  we  sent 
down  to  you  three  months  ago,"  said  Pambo. 
"  Risen  to  honor  he  is,  by  this  time,  I  doubt  not?" 


2 1 2  Hypatia 

"He?    He  is  gone!" 

"Gone?" 

"  Ay,  the  wretch,  with  the  curse  of  Judas  on 
him.  He  had  not  been  with  us  three  days  before 
he  beat  me  openly  in  the  patriarch's  court,  cast  off 
the  Christian  faith,  and  fled  away  to  the  heathen 
woman,  Hypatia,  of  whom  he  is  enamoured." 

The  two  old  men  looked  at  each  other  with 
blank  and  horror-stricken  faces. 

"Enamoured  of  Hypatia?"  said  Arsenius,  at 
last. 

"  It  is  impossible  !  "  sobbed  Pambo.  "  The  boy 
must  have  been  treated  harshly,  unjustly?  Some 
one  has  wronged  him,  and  he  was  accustomed 
only  to  kindness,  and  could  not  bear  it.  Cruel 
men  that  you  are,  and  unfaithful  stewards.  The 
Lord  will  require  the  child's  blood  at  your 
hands !  " 

"  Ay,"  said  Peter,  rising  fiercely,  "  that  is  the 
world's  justice !  Blame  me,  blame  the  patriarch, 
blame  any  and  every  one  but  the  sinner.  As  if 
a  hot  head  and  a  hotter  heart  were  not  enough  to 
explain  it  all !  As  if  a  young  fool  had  never  before 
been  bewitched  by  a  fair  face  ?  " 

"  Oh,  my  friends,  my  friends,"  cried  Arsenius, 
"  why  revile  each  other  without  cause  ?  I,  I  only 
am  to  blame.  I  advised  you,  Pambo !  —  I  sent 
him  —  I  ought  to  have  known  —  what  was  I  doing, 
old  worldling  that  I  am,  to  thrust  the  poor  inno- 
cent forth  into  the  temptations  of  Babylon?  This 
comes  of  all  my  schemings  and  my  plottings ! 
And  now  his  blood  will  be  on  my  head  —  as  if  I 
had  not  sins  enough  to  bear  already,  I  must  go 
and  add  this  over  and  above  all,  to  sell  my  own 
Joseph,  the  son  of  my  old  age,  to  the  Midianites ! 


The  Laura  Again  2 1 3 

Here,  I  will  go  with  you  —  now  —  at  once  —  I  will 
not  rest  till  I  find  him,  clasp  his  knees  till  he  pities 
my  gray  hairs!  Let  Heraclian  and  Orestes  go 
their  way  for  aught  I  care  —  I  will  find  him,  I  say. 
O  Absalom,  my  son !  would  to  God  I  had  died 
for  thee,  my  son !  my  son ! " 


CHAPTER   XII 

THE  BOWER   OF  ACRASIA 

house  which  Pelagia  and  the  Amal  had 
.  hired  after  their  return  to  Alexandria,  was 
one  of  the  most  splendid  in  the  city.  They  had 
been  now  living  there  three  months  or  more,  and 
in  that  time  Pelagia's  taste  had  supplied  the  little 
which  it  needed  to  convert  it  into  a  paradise  of 
lazy  luxury.  She  herself  was  wealthy;  and  her 
Gothic  guests,  overburdened  with  Roman  spoils, 
the  very  use  of  which  they  could  not  understand, 
freely  allowed  her  and  her  nymphs  to  throw  away 
for  them  the  treasures  which  they  had  won  in  many 
a  fearful  right.  What  matter?  If  they  had  enough 
to  eat,  and  more  than  enough  to  drink,  how  could 
the  useless  surplus  of  their  riches  be  better  spent 
than  in  keeping  their  ladies  in  good  humor?  .  .  . 
And  when  it  was  all  gone  .  .  .  they  would  go 
somewhere  or  other  —  who  cared  whither  ?  —  and 
win  more.  The  whole  world  was  before  them 
waiting  to  be  plundered,  and  they  would  fulfil  their 
mission,  whensoever  it  suited  them.  In  the  mean- 
time they  were  in  no  hurry.  Egypt  furnished  in 
profusion  every  sort  of  food  which  could  gratify 
palates  far  more  nice  than  theirs.  And  as  for  wine 
—  few  of  them  went  to  bed  sober  from  one  week's 
end  to  another.  Could  the  souls  of  warriors  have 
more,  even  in  the  halls  of  Valhalla? 

So  thought  the  party  who  occupied  the  inner 
court  of  the  house,  one  blazing  afternoon  in  the 


The  Bower  of  Acrasia  215 

same  week  in  which  Cyril's  messenger  had  so 
rudely  broken  in  on  the  repose  of  the  Scetis. 

Their  repose,  at  least,  was  still  untouched.  The 
great  city  roared  without;  Orestes  plotted,  and 
Cyril,  counterplotted,  and  the  fate  of  a  continent 
hung — or  seemed  to  hang — trembling  in  the 
balance ;  but  the  turmoil  of  it  no  more  troubled 
those  lazy  Titans  within,  than  did  the  roll  and 
rattle  of  the  carriage-wheels  disturb  the  parrakeets 
and  sunbirds  which  peopled,  under  an  awning  of 
gilded  wire,  the  inner  court  of  Pelagia's  house. 
Why  should  they  fret  themselves  with  it  all  ?  What 
was  every  fresh  riot,  execution,  conspiracy,  bank- 
ruptcy, but  a  sign  —  that  the  fruit  was  growing 
ripe  for  the  plucking  ?  Even  Heraclian's  rebellion, 
and  Orestes's  suspected  conspiracy,  were  to  the 
younger  and  coarser  Goths  a  sort  of  child's  play, 
at  which  they  could  look  on  and  laugh,  and  bet, 
from  morning  till  night ;  while  to  the  more  cunning 
heads,  such  as  Wulf  and  Smid,  they  were  but  signs 
of  the  general  rottenness  —  new  cracks  in  those 
great  walls  over  which  they  intended,  with  a  simple 
and  boyish  consciousness  of  power,  to  mount  to 
victory  when  they  chose. 

And  in  the  meantime,  till  the  right  opening 
offered,  what  was  there  better  than  to  eat,  drink, 
and  sleep?  And  certainly  they  had  chosen  a 
charming  retreat  in  which  to  fulfil  that  lofty  mis- 
sion. Columns  of  purple  and  green  porphyry, 
among  which  gleamed  the  white  limbs  of  delicate 
statues,  surrounded  a  basin  of  water,  fed  by  a  per- 
petual jet,  which  sprinkled  with  cool  spray  the 
leaves  of  the  oranges  and  mimosas,  mingling  its 
murmurs  with  the  warblings  of  the  tropic  birds 
which  nestled  among  the  branches. 


2 1 6  Hypatia 

On  one  side  of  the  fountain,  under  the  shade  of  a 
broad-leaved  palmetto,  lay  the  Amal's  mighty  limbs, 
stretched  out  on  cushions,  his  yellow  hair  crowned 
with  vine-leaves,  his  hand  grasping  a  golden  cup, 
which  had  been  won  from  Indian  Rajahs  by  Par- 
thian Chosroos,  from  Chosroos  by  Roman  generals, 
from  Roman  generals  by  the  heroes  of  sheepskin  and 
horsehide ;  while  Pelagia,  by  the  side  of  the  sleepy 
Hercules-Dionysos,  lay  leaning  over  the  brink  of 
the  fountain,  lazily  dipping  her  fingers  into  the 
water,  and  basking,  like  the  gnats  which  hovered 
over  its  surface,  in  the  mere  pleasure  of  existence. 

On  the  opposite  brink  of  the  basin,  tended  each 
by  a  dark-eyed  Hebe,  who  filled  the  wine-cups, 
and  helped  now  and  then  to  empty  them,  lay  the 
especial  friends  and  companions  in  arms  of  the 
Amal,  Goderic  the  son  of  Ermenric,  and  Agilmund 
the  son  of  Cniva,  who  both,  like  the  Amal,  boasted 
a  descent  from  gods ;  and  last,  but  not  least,  that 
most  important  and  all  but  sacred  personage,  Smid 
the  son  of  Troll,  reverenced  for  cunning  beyond 
the  sons  of  men ;  for  not  only  could  he  make  and 
mend  all  matters,  from  a  pontoon  bridge  to  a  gold 
bracelet,  shoe  horses  and  doctor  them,  charm  all 
diseases  out  of  man  and  beast,  carve  runes,  inter- 
pret war-omens,  foretell  weather,  raise  the  winds, 
and,  finally,  conquer  in  the  battle  of  mead-horns 
all  except  Wulf  the  son  of  Ovida;  but  he  had 
actually,  during  a  sojourn  among  the  half-civilized 
Maesogoths,  picked  up  a  fair  share  of  Latin  and 
Greek,  and  a  rough  knowledge  of  reading  and 
writing. 

A  few  yards  off  lay  old  Wulf  upon  his  back,  his 
knees  in  the  air,  his  hands  crossed  behind  his  head, 
keeping  up,  even  in  his  sleep,  a  half-conscious  com- 


The  Bower  of  Acrasia  217 

ment  of  growls  on  the  following  intellectual  conver- 
sation : 

"  Noble  wine  this,  is  it  not?  " 

"  Perfect.     Who  bought  it  for  us?  " 

"Old  Miriam  bought  it,  at  some  great  tax- 
farmer's  sale.  The  fellow  was  bankrupt,  and 
Miriam  said  she  got  it  for  the  half  what  it  was 
worth." 

"  Serve  the  penny-turning  rascal  right.  The  old 
vixen-fox  took  care,  I  '11  warrant  her,  to  get  her 
profit  out  of  the  bargain." 

"  Never  mind  if  she  did.  We  can  afford  to  pay 
like  men,  if  we  earn  like  men." 

"  We  sha'n't  afford  it  long,  at  this  rate,"  growled 
Wulf. 

"  Then  we  '11  go  and  earn  more.  I  am  tired  of 
doing  nothing." 

"  People  need  not  do  nothing,  unless  they 
choose,"  said  Goderic.  "  Wulf  and  I  had  coursing 
fit  for  a  king,  the  other  morning  on  the  sand-hills. 
I  had  had  no  appetite  for  a  week  before,  and  I 
have  been  as  sharp-set  as  a  Danube  pike  ever 
since." 

"  Coursing?  What,  with  those  long-legged 
brush-tailed  brutes,  like  a  fox  upon  stilts,  which 
the  prefect  cozened  you  into  buying." 

"  All  I  can  say  is,  that  we  put  up  a  herd  of  those 
—  what  do  they  call  them  here  —  deer  with  goat's 
horns?" 

"Antelopes?" 

"  That 's  it  —  and  the  curs  ran  into  them  as  a 
falcon  does  into  a  skein  of  ducks.  Wulf  and  I 
galloped  and  galloped  over  those  accursed  sand- 
heaps  till  the  horses  stuck  fast;  and  when  they  got 
their  wind  again,  we  found  each  pair  of  dogs  with 

K— Vol.  VI 


2 1 8  Hypatia 

a  deer  down  between  them  —  and  what  can  man 
want  more,  if  he  cannot  get  fighting?  You  eat 
them,  so  you  need  not  sneer." 

"  Well,  dogs  are  the  only  things  worth  having, 
then,  that  this  Alexandria  does  produce." 

"  Except  fair  ladies !  "  put  in  one  of  the  girls. 

"  Of  course.  I  '11  except  the  women.  But  the 
men " 

"  The  what?  I  have  not  seen  a  man  since  I  came 
here,  except  a  dock-worker  or  two  —  priests  and 
fine  gentlemen  they  are  all  —  and  you  don't  call 
them  men,  surely?" 

"  What  on  earth  do  they  do,  beside  riding  don- 
keys?" 

"  Philosophize,  they  say." 

"What's  that?" 

"  I  'm  sure  I  don't  know ;  some  sort  of  slave's 
quill-driving,  I  suppose." 

"  Pelagia !  do  you  know  what  philosophizing 
is?" 

«  No  —  and  I  don't  care." 

"I  do,"  quoth  Agilmund,  with  a  look  of  superior 
wisdom ;  "  I  saw  a  philosopher  the  other  day." 

"  And  what  sort  of  thing  was  it?  " 

"  I  '11  tell  you.  I  was  walking  down  the  great 
street  there,  going  to  the  harbor;  and  I  saw  a 
crowd  of  boys  —  men  they  call  them  here  —  going 
into  a  large  doorway.  So  I  asked  one  of  them 
what  was  doing,  and  the  fellow,  instead  of  answer- 
ing me,  pointed  at  my  legs,  and  set  all  the  other 
monkeys  laughing.  So  I  boxed  his  ears,  and  he 
tumbled  down." 

"  They  all  do  so  here,  if  you  box  their  ears,"  said 
the  Amal,  meditatively,  as  if  he  had  hit  upon  a  great 
inductive  law. 


The  Bower  of  Acrasia  2 1 9 

"  Ah,"  said  Pelagia,  looking  up  with  her  most 
winning  smile,  "  they  are  not  such  giants  as  you, 
who  make  a  poor  little  woman  feel  like  a  gazelle  in 
the  lion's  paw !  " 

"  Well  —  it  struck  me  that,  as  I  spoke  in  Gothic, 
the  boy  might  not  have  understood  me,  being  a 
Greek.  So  I  walked  in  at  the  door,  to  save 
questions,  and  see  for  myself.  And  there  a  fellow 
held  out  his  hand  —  I  suppose  for  money.  So  I 
gave  him  two  or  three  gold  pieces,  and  a  box  on 
the  ear,  at  which  he  tumbled  down  of  course,  but 
seemed  very  well  satisfied.  So  I  walked  in." 

"  And  what  did  you  see  ?  " 

"  A  great  hall,  large  enough  for  a  thousand 
heroes,  full  of  these  Egyptian  rascals  scribbling 
with  pencils  on  tablets.  And  at  the  farther  end  of 
it  the  most  beautiful  woman  I  ever  saw  —  with  right 
fair  hair  and  blue  eyes,  talking,  talking  —  I  could 
not  understand  it;  but  the  donkey-riders  seemed 
to  think  it  very  fine;  for  they  went  on  looking 
first  at  her,  and  then  at  their  tablets,  gaping  like 
frogs  in  drought.  And,  certainly,  she  looked  as 
fair  as  the  sun,  and  talked  like  an  Alruna-wife. 
Not  that  I  knew  what  it  was  about,  but  one  can  see 
somehow,  you  know.  —  So  I  fell  asleep ;  and  when 
I  woke,  and  came  out,  I  met  some  one  who  under- 
stood me,  and  he  told  me  that  it  was  the  famous 
maiden,  the  great  philosopher.  And  that's  what 
I  know  about  philosophy." 

"  She  was  very  much  wasted,  then,  on  such  soft- 
handed  starvelings.  Why  don't  she  marry  some 
hero?" 

"  Because  there  are  none  here  to  marry,"  said 
Pelagia ;  "  except  some  who  are  fast  netted,  I 
fancy,  already." 


22O  Hypatia 

"  But  what  do  they  talk  about,  and  tell  people  to 
do,  these  philosophers,  Pelagia?  " 

"  Oh,  they  don't  tell  any  one  to  do  anything,  — 
at  least,  if  they  do  nobody  ever  does  it,  as  far 
as  I  can  see;  but  they  talk  about  suns  and 
stars,  and  right  and  wrong,  and  ghosts  and 
spirits,  and  that  sort  of  thing;  and  about  not 
enjoying  oneself  too  much.  Not  that  I  ever 
saw  that  they  were  any  happier  than  any  one 
else." 

"  She  must  have  been  an  Alruna-maiden,"  said 
Wulf,  half  to  himself. 

"She  is  a  very  conceited  creature,  and  I  hate 
her,"  said  Pelagia. 

"  I  believe  you,"  said  Wulf. 

"  What  is  an  Alruna-maiden  ?  "  asked  one  of  the 
girls. 

"  Something  as  like  you  as  a  salmon  is  like  a 
horse-leech.  Heroes,  will  you  hear  a  saga?" 

"  If  it  is  a  cool  one,"  said  Agilmund ;  "  about 
ice,  and  pine-trees,  and  snow-storms.  I  shall  be 
roasted  brown  in  three  days  more." 

"  Oh,"  said  the  Amal,  "  that  we  were  on  the  Alps 
again  for  only  two  hours,  sliding  down  those  snow- 
slopes  on  our  shields,  with  the  sleet  whistling  about 
our  ears  !  That  was  sport !  " 

"To  those  who  could  keep  their  seat,"  said 
Goderic.  "Who  went  head  over  heels  into  a 
glacier-crack,  and  was  dug  out  of  fifty  feet  of  snow, 
and  had  to  be  put  inside  a  fresh-killed  horse  before 
he  could  be  brought  to  life  ?  " 

"  Not  you,  surely,"  said  Pelagia.  "  Oh,  you  won- 
derful creature!  what  things  you  have  done  and 
suffered ! " 

"Well,"  said  the  Amal,  with  a  look  of  stolid  self- 


The  Bower  of  Acrasia  221 

satisfaction,  "I  suppose  I  have  seen  a  good  deal  in 
my  time,  eh  ?  " 

"Yes,  my  Hercules,  you  have  gone  through  your 
twelve  labors,  and  saved  your  poor  little  Hesione 
after  them  all,  when  she  was  chained  to  the  rock, 
for  the  ugly  sea-monsters  to  eat;  and  she  will 
cherish  you,  and  keep  you  out  of  scrapes  now,  for 
her  own  sake ;  "  and  Pelagia  threw  her  arms  round 
the  great  bull-neck,  and  drew  it  down  to  her. 

"  Will  you  hear  my  saga  ? "  said  Wulf,  impa- 
tiently. 

"  Of  course  we  will,"  said  the  Amal ;  "  any- 
thing to  pass  the  time." 

"  But  let  it  be  about  snow,"  said  Agilmund. 

"  Not  about  Alruna-wives  ?  " 

"  About  them,  too,"  said  Goderic ;  "  my  mother 
was  one,  so  I  must  needs  stand  up  for  them." 

"  She  was,  boy.  Do  you  be  her  son.  Now 
hear,  Wolves  of  the  Goths !  " 

And  the  old  man  took  up  his  little  lute,  or  as 
he  would  probably  have  called  it,  "fidel,"  and 
began  chanting,  to  his  own  accompaniment. 

Over  the  camp  fires 

Drank  I  with  heroes, 

Under  the  Donau  bank 

Warm  in  the  snow-trench, 

Sagamen  heard  I  there, 

Men  of  the  Longbeards, 

Cunning  and  ancient, 

H  oney-sweet-voiced. 

Scaring  the  wolf-cub, 

Scaring  the  horn-owl  out, 

Shaking  the  snow-wreaths 

Down  from  the  pine-bough8|        . 

Up  to  the  star-roof 

Rang  out  their  song. 

Singing  how  Winil  men 


222  Hypatia 


Over  the  icefloes 
Sledging  from  Scanland  on 
Came  unto  Scoring ; 
Singing  of  Gambara 
Freya's  beloved. 
Mother  of  Ayo, 
Mother  of  Ibor. 
Singing  of  Wendel  men, 
Ambri  and  Assi ; 
How  to  the  Winilfolk 
Went  they  with  war-words— 
**  Few  are  ye,  strangers, 
And  many  are  we ; 
Pay  us  now  toll  and  fee, 
Clothyarn,  and  rings,  and  beeves  | 
Else  at  the  raven's  meal 
Bide  the  sharp  bill's  doom." 

Clutching  the  dwarfs'  work  then, 
Clutching  the  bullock's  shell, 
Girding  gray  iron  on, 
Forth  fared  the  Winils  all, 
Fared  the  Alruna's  sons, 
Ayo  and  Ibor. 
Mad  of  heart  stalked  they: 
Loud  wept  the  women  all, 
Loud  the  Alruna-wife ; 
Sore  was  their  need. 

Out  of  the  morning  land, 
Over  the  snowdrifts, 
Beautiful  Freya  came, 
Tripping  to  Scoring. 
White  were  the  moorlands, 
And  frozen  before  her ; 
But  green  were  the  moorland*, 
And  blooming  behind  her, 
Out  of  her  golden  locks 
Shaking  the  spring  flowers, 
Out  of  her  garments 
Shaking  the  south  wind, 
Around  in  the  birches 


The  Bower  of  Acrasia  223 

Awaking  the  throstles, 
And  making  chaste  housewives  all 
Long  for  their  heroes  home, 
Loving  and  love-giving, 
Came  she  to  Scoring. 
Came  unto  Gambara, 
Wisest  of  Valas  — 
44  Vala,  why  weepest  thou  ! 
Far  in  the  wide-blue, 
High  up  in  the  Elfin-home, 
Heard  I  thy  weeping." 

44  Stop  not  my  weeping, 
Till  one  can  fight  seven. 
Sons  have  I,  heroes  tall, 
First  in  the  sword-play ; 
This  day  at  the  Wendels'  hands 
Eagles  must  tear  them ; 
While  their  mothers,  thrall-weary, 
Must  grind  for  the  Wendels." 

Wept  the  Alruna-wife ; 
Kissed  her  fair  Freya  — 
*  Far  off  in  the  morning  land 
High  in  Valhalla, 
A  window  stands  open, 
Its  sill  is  the  snow-peaks, 
Its  posts  are  the  water-spouts 
Storm-rack  its  lintel, 
Gold  cloud-flakes  above  it 
Are  piled  for  the  roofing. 
Far  up  to  the  Elfin-home, 
High  in  the  wide-blue. 
Smiles  out  each  morning  thence 
Odin  Allfather ; 
From  under  the  cloud-eaves, 
Smiles  out  on  the  heroes, 
Smiles  out  on  chaste  housewives  all* 
Smiles  on  the  brood-mares, 
Smiles  on  the  smith's  work: 
And  theirs  is  the  sword-luck, 
With  them  is  the  glory  — 
So  Odin  hath  sworn  it  — 


224  Hypatia 


Who  first  in  the  morning 
Shall  meet  him  and  greet  him.** 
Still  the  Alruna  wept  — 
M  Who  then  shall  greet  him  ? 
Women  alone  are  here  : 
Far  on  the  moorlands 
Behind  the  war-lindens, 
In  vain  for  the  bill's  doom 
Watch  Winil  heroes  all, 
One  against  seven." 

Sweetly  the  Queen  laughed  — 
44  Hear  thou  my  counsel  now ; 
Take  to  thee  cunning. 
Beloved  of  Freya. 
Take  thou  thy  women-folk, 
Maidens  and  wives : 
Over  your  ankles 
Lace  on  the  white  war-hose ; 
Over  your  bosoms 
Link  up  the  hard  mailnets ; 
Over  your  lips 

Plait  Jong  tresses  with  cunning ; « 
So  war-beasts  full-bearded 
King  Odin  shall  deem  you, 
When  off  the  gray  sea-beach 
At  sunrise  ye  greet  him;" 

Night's  son  was  driving 
His  golden-haired  horses  up. 
Over  the  Eastern  firths 
High  flashed  their  manes. 
Smiled  from  the  cloud-eaves  out 
Allfather  Odin, 
Waiting  the  battle-sport : 
Freya  stood  by  him. 
M  Who  are  these  heroes  tall  — 
Lusty-limbed  Longbeards  ? 
Over  the  swans'  bath 
Why  cry  they  to  me  ? 
Bones  should  be  crashing  fast, 
Wolves  should  be  full-fed, 


The  Bower  of  Acrasia  225 

Where'er  such,  mad-hearted, 
Swing  hands  in  the  sword-play." 
Sweetly  laughed  Freya  — 
"  A  name  thou  hast  given  them  — 
Shames  neither  thee  nor  them, 
Well  can  they  wear  it. 
Give  them  the  victory, 
First  have  they  greeted  thee ; 
Give  them  the  victory, 
Yokefellow  mine ! 
Maidens  and  wives  are  these  — 
Wives  of  the  Winils  ; 
Few  are  their  heroes 
And  far  on  the  war-road, 
So  over  the  swans'  bath 
They  cry  unto  thee." 

Royally  laughed  he  then ; 
Dear  was  that  craft  to  him, 
Odin  Allfather, 
Shaking  the  clouds. 
"  Cunning  are  women  all, 
Bold  and  importunate ! 
Longbeards  their  name  shall  be, 
Ravens  shall  thank  them : 
Where  the  women  are  heroes, 
What  must  the  men  be  like  ? 
Theirs  is  the  victory ; 
No  need  of  me  1 "  x 

"  There !  "  said  Wulf,  when  the  song  was  ended ; 
"  is  that  cool  enough  for  you?  " 

"  Rather  too  cool ;  eh,  Pelagia?  "  said  the  Amal, 
laughing. 

"  Ay,"  went  on  the  old  man,  bitterly  enough, 
"  such  were  your  mothers ;  and  such  were  your 
sisters ;  and  such  your  wives  must  be,  if  you  in- 

1  This  punning  legend  may  be  seen  in  Paul  Warnefrid's  Gesta 
Langobardorum.  The  metre  and  language  are  intended  a*  im- 
itations of  those  of  the  earlier  Eddaic  poems. 


226  Hypatia 

tend  to  last  much  longer  on  the  face  of  the  earth 
—  women  who  care  for  something  better  than 
good  eating,  strong  drinking,  and  soft  lying." 

"All  very  true,  Prince  Wulf,"  said  Agilmund, 
"  but  I  don't  like  the  saga  after  all.  It  was  a  great 
deal  too  like  what  Pelagia  here  says  those  philos- 
ophers talk  about — right  and  wrong,  and  that 
sort  of  thing." 

"  I  don't  doubt  it." 

"  Now  I  like  a  really  good  saga,  about  gods  and 
giants,  and  the  fire  kingdoms  and  the  snow  king- 
doms, and  the  JEslr  making  men  and  women  out 
of  two  sticks,  and  all  that." 

"  Ay,"  said  the  Amal,  "  something  like  nothing 
one  ever  saw  in  one's  life,  all  stark  mad  and  topsy- 
turvy, like  one's  dreams  when  one  has  been  drunk ; 
something  grand  which  you  cannot  understand, 
but  which  sets  you  thinking  over  it  all  the  morn- 
ing after." 

"  Well,"  said  Goderic,  "  my  mother  was  an 
Alruna-woman,  so  I  will  not  be  the  bird  to  foul  its 
own  nest.  But  I  like  to  hear  about  wild  beasts 
and  ghosts,  ogres,  and  fire-drakes,  and  nicors  — 
something  that  one  could  kill  if  one  had  a  chance, 
as  one's  fathers  had." 

"  Your  fathers  would  never  have  killed  nicors," 
said  Wulf,  "  if  they  had  been " 

"  Like  us  —  I  know,"  said  the  Amal.  "  Now 
tell  me,  prince,  you  are  old  enough  to  be  our 
father;  and  did  you  ever  see  a  nicer?" 

"  My  brother  saw  one,  in  the  Northern  sea,  three 
fathoms  long,  with  the  body  of  a  bison-bull,  and 
the  head  of  a  cat,  and  the  beard  of  a  man,  and 
tusks  an  ell  long  lying  down  on  its  breast,  watching 
for  the  fishermen ;  and  he  struck  it  with  an  arrow, 


The  Bower  of  Acrasia  227 

so  that  it  fled  to  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  and  never 
came  up  again." 

"  What  is  a  nicor,  Agilmund  ?  "  asked  one  of  the 
girls. 

"  A  sea-devil  who  eats  sailors.  There  used  to 
be  plenty  of  them  where  our  fathers  came  from, 
and  ogres  too,  who  came  out  of  the  fens  into  the 
hall  at  night,  when  the  warriors  were  sleeping,  to 
suck  their  blood,  and  steal  along,  and  steal  along, 
and  jump  upon  you  —  so  !  " 

Pelagia,  during  the  saga,  had  remained  looking 
into  the  fountain,  and  playing  with  the  water-drops, 
in  assumed  indifference.  Perhaps  it  was  to  hide 
burning  blushes,  and  something  very  like  two  hot 
tears,  which  fell  unobserved  into  the  ripple.  Now 
she  looked  up  suddenly : 

"  And  of  course  you  have  killed  some  of  these 
dreadful  creatures,  Amalric  ?  " 

"  I  never  had  such  good  luck,  darling.  Our 
forefathers  were  in  such  a  hurry  with  them,  that  by 
the  time  we  were  born,  there  was  hardly  one  left." 

"  Ay,  they  were  men,"  growled  Wulf. 

"  As  for  me,"  went  on  the  Amal,  "  the  biggest 
thing  I  ever  killed  was  a  snake  in  the  Donau  fens. 
How  long  was  he,  prince?  You  had  time  to  see, 
for  you  sat  eating  your  dinner  and  looking  on, 
while  he  was  trying  to  crack  my  bones." 

"  Four  fathom,"  answered  Wulf. 

"  With  a  wild  bull  lying  by  him,  which  he  had 
just  killed.  I  spoilt  his  dinner,  eh,  Wulf?  " 

"  Yes/'  said  the  old  grumbler,  mollified,  "  that 
,was  a  right  good  fight." 

i  "Why  don't  you  make  a  saga  about  it,  then, 
instead  of  about  right  and  wrong,  and  such 
things?" 


228  Hypatia 

"  Because  I  am  turned  philosopher.  I  shall  go 
and  hear  that  Alruna-maiden  this  afternoon." 

"  Well  said.  Let  us  go  too,  young  men :  it  will 
pass  the  time,  at  all  events." 

"  Oh,  no  !  no  !  no  !  do  not  1  you  shall  not !  " 
almost  shrieked  Pelagia. 

"  Why  not,  then,  pretty  one?  " 

"  She  is  a  witch  —  she  —  I  will  never  love  you 
again  if  you  dare  to  go.  Your  only  reason  is  that 
Agilmund's  report  of  her  beauty." 

"  So  ?  You  are  afraid  of  my  liking  her  golden 
locks  better  than  your  black  ones  ?  " 

"  I  ?  Afraid  ?  "  And  she  leapt  up,  panting  with 
pretty  rage.  "  Come,  we  will  go  too  —  at  once  — 
and  brave  this  nun,  who  fancies  herself  too  wise  to 
speak  to  a  woman,  and  too  pure  to  love  a  man ! 
Look  out  my  jewels !  Saddle  my  white  mule ! 
We  will  go  royally.  We  will  not  be  ashamed  of 
Cupid's  livery,  my  girls  —  saffron  shawl  and  all ! 
Come,  and  let  us  see  whether  saucy  Aphrodite  is 
not  a  match  after  all  for  Pallas  Athene  and  her 
owl !  " 

And  she  darted  out  of  the  cloister. 

The  three  younger  men  burst  into  a  roar  of 
laughter,  while  Wulf  looked  with  grim  approval. 

"  So  you  want  to  go  and  hear  the  philosopher, 
Prince  ?  "  said  Smid. 

"  Wheresoever  a  holy  and  a  wise  woman  speaks, 
a  warrior  need  not  be  ashamed  of  listening.  Did 
not  Alaric  bid  us  spare  the  nuns  in  Rome,  com- 
rade? And  though  I  am  no  Christian  as  he  was, 
I  thought  it  no  shame  for  Odin's  man  to  take  their 
blessing ;  nor  will  I  to  take  this  one's,  Smid,  son 
of  Troll." 


CHAPTER   XHI 

THE  BOTTOM  OF  THE  ABYSS 

0  TT  ERE  am  I,  at  last !  "  said  Raphael  Aben- 

JL  JL  Ezra  to  himself.  "  Fairly  and  safely  landed 
at  the  very  bottom  of  the  bottomless ;  disporting 
myself  on  the  firm  floor  of  the  primeval  nothing,  and 
finding  my  new  element,  like  boys  when  they  begin 
to  swim,  not  so  impracticable  after  all.  No  man, 
angel,  or  demon,  can  this  day  cast  it  in  my  teeth 
that  I  am  weak  enough  to  believe  or  disbelieve 
any  phenomenon  or  theory  in  or  concerning  heaven 
or  earth;  or  even  that  any  such  heaven,  earth, 
phenomena,  or  theories  exist  —  or  otherwise.  .  .  . 

1  trust  that  is  a  sufficiently  exhaustive  statement  of 
my  opinions?  ...  I   am  certainly  not  dogmatic 
enough  to  deny  —  or  to  assert  either  —  that  there 
are  sensations  ...  far  too  numerous  for  comfort 
.  .  .  but  as  for  proceeding  any  further,  by  induc- 
tion, deduction,  analysis,  or   synthesis,  I   utterly 
decline  the  office  of  Arachne,  and  will  spin   no 
more  cobwebs  out  of  my  own  inside  —  if  I  have 
any.     Sensations?    What  are  they,  but   parts  of 
oneself  —  if  one  has  a  self!     What  put  this  child's 
fancy  into  one's  head,  that  there  is  anything  out- 
side of  one  which  produces  them  ?     You  have  ex- 
actly similar  feelings  in  your  dreams,  and   you 
know  that  there   is  no   reality  corresponding  to 
them  —  No,  you  don't !     How  dare  you  be  dog- 
matic enough  to  affirm  that?     Why  should   not 
your  dreams  be  as  real  as  your  waking  thoughts? 


230  Hypatia 

Why  should  not  your  dreams  be  the  reality,  and 
your  waking  thoughts  the  dream?  What  matter 
which  ? 

"  What  matter,  indeed  ?  Here  have  I  been 
staring  for  years  —  unless  that,  too,  is  a  dream, 
which  it  very  probably  is  —  at  every  mountebank 
'  ism '  which  ever  tumbled  and  capered  on  the 
philosophic  tight-rope ;  and  they  are  every  one  of 
them  dead  dolls,  wooden,  worked  with  wires,  which 
are  petitiones  principii.  .  .  .  Each  philosopher 
begs  the  question  in  hand,  and  then  marches  for- 
ward, as  brave  as  a  triumph,  and  prides  himself — 
on  proving  it  all  afterwards.  No  wonder  that  his 
theory  fits  the  universe,  when  he  has  first  clipped 
the  universe  to  fit  his  theory.  Have  I  not  tried 
my  hand  at  many  a  one  —  starting,  too,  no  one 
can  deny,  with  the  very  minimum  of  clipping,  .  .  . 
for  I  suppose  one  cannot  begin  lower  than  at 
simple  '  I  am  I '  .  .  .  unless  —  which  is  equally 
demonstrable  —  at  '  I  am  not  I.'  I  recollect  —  or 
dream  —  that  I  offered  that  sweet  dream,  Hypatia, 
to  deduce  all  things  in  Heaven  and  earth,  from  the 
Astronomies  of  Hipparchus  to  the  number  of 
plumes  in  an  archangel's  wing,  from  that  one 
simple  proposition,  if  she  would  but  write  me  out 
a  demonstration  of  it  first,  as  some  sort  of  TTOU  orw 
for  the  apex  of  my  inverted  pyramid.  But  she 
disdained,  .  .  .  people  are  apt  to  disdain  what 
they  know  they  cannot  do.  .  .  .  '  It  was  an  axiom/ 
it  was,  'like  one  and  one  making  two.'  ...  How 
cross  the  sweet  dream  was,  at  my  telling  her  that 
I  did  not  consider  that  any  axiom  either,  and  that 
one  thing  and  one  thing  seeming  to  us  to  be  two 
things,  was  no  more  proof  that  they  really  were 
two,  and  not  three  hundred  and  sixty-five,  than  a 


The  Bottom  of  the  Abyss        231 

man  seeming  to  be  an  honest  man,  proved  him  not 
to  be  a  rogue ;  and  at  my  asking  her,  moreover, 
when  she  appealed  to  universal  experience,  how 
she  proved  that  the  combined  folly  of  all  fools 
resulted  in  wisdom ! 

"  '  I  am  I '  an  axiom,  indeed  !  What  right  have 
I  to  say  that  I  am  not  any  one  else?  How  do  I 
know  it !  How  do  I  know  that  there  is  any  one 
else  for  me  not  to  be  ?  I,  or  rather  something,  feel 
a  number  of  sensations,  longings,  thoughts,  fancies 

—  the  great  devil  take  them  all  —  fresh  ones  every 
moment,  and  each  at  war  tooth  and  nail  with  all 
the  rest;  and  then  on  the  strength  of  this  infinite 
multiplicity  and    contradiction,  of  which  alone  I 
am  aware,  I  am  to  be  illogical  enough  to  stand  up, 
and  say,  '  I  by  myself  I ; '  and  swear  stoutly  that 
I  am  one  thing,  when  all  I  am  conscious  of  is  the 
devil  only  knows  how  many  things.     Of  all  quaint 
deductions  from  experience,  that  is  the  quaintest ! 
Would  it  not  be  more  philosophical  to  conclude 
that  I,  who  never  saw  or  felt  or  heard  this  which  I 
call  myself,  am  what  I  have  seen,  heard,  and  felt, 

—  and  no  more  and  no  less  —  that  sensation  which 
I  call  that  horse,  that  dead  man,  that  jackass,  those 
forty  thousand  two-legged  jackasses  who   appear 
to  be  running  for  their  lives  below  there,  having 
got  hold  of  this  same  notion  of  their  being  one 
thing  each  —  as  I  choose  to  fancy  in  my  foolish 
habit  of  imputing  to   them  the  same  disease   of 
thought  which  I  find  in  myself — crucify  the  word  ! 

—  The  folly  of  my  ancestors  —  if  I  ever  had  any 

—  prevents  my  having  any  better  expression.  .  .  . 
Why  should  I  not  be  all  I  feel  —  that  sky,  those 
clouds  —  the  whole  universe?     Hercules!  what  a 
creative  genius  my  sensorium  must  be !  —  I  '11  take 


232  Hypatia 

to  writing  poetry  —  a  mock-epic,  in  seventy-two 
books,  entitled  '  The  Universe ;  or,  Raphael  Aben- 
Ezra;  '  and  take  Homer's  Margites  for  my  model. 
Homer's?  Mine!  Why  must  not  the  Margites, 
like  everything  else,  have  been  a  sensation  of  my 
own  ?  Hypatia  used  to  say  Homer's  poetry  was  a 
part  of  her  .  .  .  only  she  could  not  prove  it  ... 
but  I  have  proved  that  the  Margites  is  a  part  of 
me  .  .  .  not  that  I  believe  my  own  proof —  scepti- 
cism forbid !  Oh,  would  to  heaven  that  the  said 
whole  disagreeable  universe  were  annihilated,  if  it 
were  only  just  to  settle  by  fair  experiment  whether 
any  of  master  '  I '  remained  when  they  were  gone  ! 
Buzzard  and  dogmatist !  And  how  do  you  know 
that  that  would  settle  it?  And  if  it  did  —  why 
need  it  be  settled?  .  .  . 

"  I  dare  say  there  is  an  answer  pat  for  all  this. 
I  could  write  a  pretty  one  myself  in  half  an  hour. 
But  then  I  should  not  believe  it  ...  nor  the 
rejoinder  to  that  .  .  .  nor  the  demurrer  to  that 
again.  ...  So  ...  I  am  both  sleepy  and  hungry 
...  or  rather,  sleepiness  and  hunger  are  me. 
Which  is  it?  Heigh-ho  ..."  and  Raphael  fin- 
ished his  meditation  by  a  mighty  yawn. 

This  hopeful  oration  was  delivered  in  a  fitting 
lecture-room.  Between  the  bare  walls  of  a  doleful 
fire-scarred  tower  in  the  Campagna  of  Rome, 
standing  upon  a  knoll  of  dry  brown  grass,  ringed 
with  a  few  grim  pines,  blasted  and  black  with 
smoke ;  there  sat  Raphael  Aben-Ezra,  working  out 
the  last  formula  of  the  great  world  problem  — 
"  Given  Self;  to  find  God."  Through  the  doorless 
stone  archway  he  could  see  a  long  vista  of  the 
plain  below,  covered  with  broken  trees,  trampled 
crops,  smoking  villas,  and  all  the  ugly  scars  of 


The  Bottom  of  the  Abyss        233 

recent  war,  far  onward  to  the  quiet  purple  moun- 
tains and  the  silver  sea,  towards  which  struggled, 
far  in  the  distance,  long  dark  lines  of  moving 
specks,  flowing  together,  breaking  up,  stopping 
short,  recoiling  back  to  surge  forward  by  some 
fresh  channel,  while  now  and  then  a  glitter  of  keen 
white  sparks  ran  through  the  dense  black  masses. 
.  .  .  The  Count  of  Africa  had  thrown  for  the 
empire  of  the  world  —  and  lost. 

"  Brave  old  Sun  !  "  said  Raphael,  "  how  merrily 
he  flashes  off  the  sword-blades  yonder,  and  never 
cares  that  every  tiny  sparkle  brings  a  death-shriek 
after  it!  Why  should  he?  It  is  no  concern  of 
his.  Astrologers  are  fools.  His  business  is  to 
shine;  and  on  the  whole,  he  is  one  of  my  few 
satisfactory  sensations.  How  now?  This  is  ques- 
tionably pleasant !  " 

As  he  spoke,  a  column  of  troops  came  marching 
across  the  field,  straight  towards  his  retreat. 

"  If  these  new  sensations  of  mine  find  me  here, 
they  will  infallibly  produce  in  me  a  new  sensation, 
which  will  render  all  further  ones  impossible.  .  .  . 
Well?  What  kinder  thing  could  they  do  for  me? 
.  .  .  Ay  —  but  how  do  I  know  that  they  would  do 
it?  What  possible  proof  is  there  that  if  a  two- 
legged  phantasm  pokes  a  hard  iron-gray  phantasm 
in  among  my  sensations,  those  sensations  will  be 
my  last  ?  Is  the  fact  of  my  turning  pale,  and  lying 
still,  and  being  in  a  day  or  two  converted  into 
crow's  flesh,  any  reason  why  I  should  not  feel? 
And  how  do  I  know  that  would  happen?  It  seems 
to  happen  to  certain  sensations  of  my  eyeball  — 
or  something  else  —  who  cares  ?  which  I  call  sol- 
diers; but  what  possible  analogy  can  there  be 
between  what  seems  to  happen  to  those  single 


234  Hypatia 

sensations  called  soldiers,  and  what  may  or  may 
not  really  happen  to  all  my  sensations  put  together, 
which  I  call  me  ?  Should  I  bear  apples  if  a  phan- 
tasm seemed  to  come  and  plant  me?  Then  why 
should  I  die  if  another  phantasm  seemed  to  come 
and  poke  me  in  the  ribs? 

"  Still  I  don't  intend  to  deny  it  ...  I  am  no 
dogmatist.  Positively  the  phantasms  are  marching 
straight  for  my  tower !  Well,  it  may  be  safer  to 
run  away,  on  the  chance.  But  as  for  losing  feeling," 
continued  he,  rising  and  cramming  a  few  mouldy 
crusts  into  his  wallet,  "  that,  like  everything  else, 
is  past  proof.  Why  — if  now,  when  I  have  some 
sort  of  excuse  for  fancying  myself  one  thing  in  one 
place,  I  am  driven  mad  with  the  number  of  my 
sensations,  what  will  it  be  when  I  am  eaten,  and 
turned  to  dust,  and  undeniably  many  things  in 
many  places.  .  .  .  Will  not  the  sensations  be 
multiplied  by  —  unbearable  !  I  would  swear  at  the 
thought,  if  I  had  anything  to  swear  by !  To  be 
transmuted  into  the  sensoria  of  forty  different  nasty 
carrion  crows,  besides  two  or  three  foxes,  and  a 
large  black  beetle  !  I  '11  run  away,  just  like  any- 
body else  ...  if  anybody  existed.  Come,  Bran !  " 

"  Bran !  where  are  you ;  unlucky  inseparable 
sensation  of  mine?  Picking  up  a  dinner  already 
off  these  dead  soldiers?  Well,  the  pity  is  that 
this  foolish  contradictory  taste  of  mine,  while  it 
makes  me  hungry,  forbids  me  to  follow  your 
example.  Why  am  I  to  take  lessons  from  my 
soldier-phantasms,  and  not  from  my  canine  one? 
Illogical !  Bran !  Bran ! "  and  he  went  out  and 
whistled  in  vain  for  the  dog. 

"  Bran !  unhappy  phantom,  who  will  not  vanish 


The  Bottom  of  the  Abyss        235 

by  night  or  day,  lying  on  my  chest  even  in  dreams ; 
and  who  would  not  even  let  me  vanish,  and  solve 
the  problem  —  though  I  don't  believe  there  is  any 

—  why  did  you  drag  me  out  of  the  sea  there  at 
Ostia?     Why  did  you  not  let  me  become  a  whole 
shoal  of  crabs?     How  did  you  know,  or  I  either, 
that  they  may  not  be  very  jolly  fellows,  and  not  in 
the  least  troubled  with  philosophic  doubts?  .  .  . 
But  perhaps  there  were  no  crabs,  but  only  phan- 
tasms of  crabs.  .  .  .  And,  on  the  other  hand,  if  the 
crab-phantasms  give  jolly  sensations,  why  should 
not  the  crow-phantasms?      So  whichever  way  it 
turns  out,  no  matter ;  and  I  may  as  well  wait  here, 
and  seem  to  become  crows,  as  I  certainly  shall  do. 

—  Bran!   .  .  .  Why  should  I  wait  for  her?    What 
pleasure  can  it  be  to  me  to  have  the  feeling  of 
a  four-legged,    brindled,  lop-eared,  toad-mouthed 
thing  always  between  what  seem  to  be  my  legs? 
There  she  is !     Where   have  you  been,  madam  ? 
Don't  you  see  I  am  in  marching  order,  with  staff 
and  wallet  ready  shouldered  ?     Come  !  " 

But  the  dog,  looking  up  in  his  face  as  only  dogs 
can  look,  ran  toward  the  back  of  the  ruin,  and  up 
to  him  again,  and  back  again,  until  he  followed  her. 

"  What 's  this  ?  Here  is  a  new  sensation  with 
a  vengeance !  Oh,  storm  and  cloud  of  material 
appearances,  were  there  not  enough  of  you  al- 
ready, that  you  must  add  to  your  number  these 
also  ?  Bran !  Bran  !  Could  you  find  no  other  day 
in  the  year  but  this,  whereon  to  present  my  ears 
with  the  squeals  of —  one  —  two  —  three  —  nine 
blind  puppies?" 

Bran  answered  by  rushing  into  the  hole  where 
her  new  family  lay  tumbling  and  squalling,  bring- 
ing out  one  in  her  mouth,  and  laying  it  at  his  feet. 


236  Hypatia 

"  Needless,  I  assure  you.  I  am  perfectly  aware 
of  the  state  of  the  case  already.  What!  another? 
Silly  old  thing !  —  do  you  fancy,  as  the  fine  ladies 
do,  that  burdening  the  world  with  noisy  likenesses 
of  your  precious  self,  is  a  thing  of  which  to  be 
proud  ?  Why,  she  's  bringing  out  the  whole  litter  I 
.  .  .  What  was  I  thinking  of  last?  Ah  —  the 
argument  was  self-contradictory,  was  it,  because 
I  could  not  argue  without  using  the  very  terms 
which  I  repudiated.  Well  .  .  .  And  —  why  should 
it  not  be  contradictory?  Why  not?  One  must 
face  that  too,  after  all.  Why  should  not  a  thing 
be  true  and  false  also?  What  harm  in  a  thing's 
being  false?  What  necessity  for  it  to  be  true? 
True?  What  is  truth?  Why  should  a  thing  be 
the  worse  for  being  illogical  ?  Why  should  there 
be  any  logic  at  all?  Did  I  ever  see  a  little  beast 
flying  about  with  'Logic'  labelled  on  its  back? 
What  do  I  know  of  it,  but  as  a  sensation  of  my 
own  mind  —  if  I  have  any?  What  proof  is  that 
that  I  am  to  obey  it,  and  not  it  me?  If  a  flea 
bites  me  I  get  rid  of  that  sensation ;  and  if  logic 
bothers  me,  I  '11  get  rid  of  that  too.  Phantasms 
must  be  taught  to  vanish  courteously.  One's 
only  hope  of  comfort  lies  in  kicking  feebly  against 
the  tyranny  of  one's  own  boring  notions  and  sen- 
sations —  every  philosopher  confesses  that  —  and 
what  god  is  logic,  pray,  that  it  is  to  be  the  sole 
exception?  .  .  .  What,  old  lady?  I  give  you 
fair  warning,  you  must  choose  this  day,  like  any 
nun,  between  the  ties  of  family  and  those  of  duty." 

Bran  seized  him  by  the  skirt,  and  pulled  him 
down  towards  the  puppies ;  took  up  one  of  the 
puppies  and  lifted  it  towards  him;  and  then  re- 
peated the  action  with  another. 


The  Bottom  of  the  Abyss        237 

"  You  unconscionable  old  brute !  You  don't 
actually  dare  to  expect  me  to  carry  your  puppies 
for  you  ?  "  and  he  turned  to  go. 

Bran  sat  down  on  her  tail  and  began  howling. 

"  Farewell,  old  dog !  you  have  been  a  pleasant 
dream  after  all.  .  .  .  But  if  you  will  go  the  way  of 
all  phantasms  "...  And  he  walked  away. 

Bran  ran  with  him,  leaping  and  barking;  then 
recollected  her  family  and  ran  back ;  tried  to  bring 
them,  one  by  one,  in  her  mouth,  and  then  to  bring 
them  all  at  once ;  and  failing  sat  down  and  howled. 

"  Come,  Bran  !     Come,  old  girl !  " 

She  raced  halfway  up'  to  him ;  then  halfway 
back  again  to  the  puppies ;  then  towards  him  again : 
and  then  suddenly  gave  it  up,  and  dropping  her 
tail,  walked  slowly  back  to  the  blind  suppliants, 
with  a  deep  reproachful  growl. 

" !  "   said   Raphael,  with  a   mighty  oath ; 

"you  are  right  after  all?  Here  are  nine  things 
come  into  the  world,  phantasms  or  not,  there  it 
is;  I  can't  deny  it.  They  are  something,  and 
you  are  something,  old  dog;  or  at  least  like 
enough  to  something  to  do  instead  of  it ;  and  you 
are  not  I,  and  as  good  as  I,  and  they  too,  for  aught 
I  know,  and  have  as  good  a  right  to  live  as  I ; 
and  by  the  seven  planets  and  all  the  rest  of  it,  I  '11 
carry  them !  " 

And  he  went  back,  tied  up  the  puppies  in  his 
blanket,  and  set  forth,  Bran  barking,  squeaking, 
wagging,  leaping,  running  between  his  legs  and 
upsetting  him,  in  her  agonies  of  joy. 

"  Forward  !  Whither  you  will,  old  lady !  The 
world  is  wide.  You  shall  be  my  guide,  tutor, 
queen  of  philosophy,  for  the  sake  of  this  mere 
common  sense  of  yours.  Forward,  you  new  Hy- 


238  Hypatia 

patia!  I  promise  you  I  will  attend  no  lectures 
but  yours  this  day !  " 

He  toiled  on,  every  now  and  then  stepping 
across  a  dead  body,  or  clambering  a  wall  out  of 
the  road,  to  avoid  some  plunging,  shrieking  horse, 
or  obscene  knot  of  prowling  camp  followers,  who 
were  already  stripping  and  plundering  the  slain. 
...  At  last,  in  front  of  a  large  villa,  now  a  black 
and  smoking  skeleton,  he  leaped  a  wall,  and  found 
himself  landed  on  a  heap  of  corpses.  .  .  .  They 
were  piled  up  against  the  garden  fence  for  many 
yards.  The  struggle  had  been  fierce  there  some 
three  hours  before. 

"  Put  me  out  of  my  misery !  In  mercy  kill 
me ! "  moaned  a  voice  beneath  his  feet. 

Raphael  looked  down ;  the  poor  wretch  was 
slashed  and  mutilated  beyond  all  hope. 

"  Certainly,  friend,  if  you  wish  it,"  and  he  drew 
his  dagger.  The  poor  fellow  stretched  out  his 
throat,  and  awaited  the  stroke  with  a  ghastly 
smile.  Raphael  caught  his  eye ;  his  heart  failed 
him,  and  he  rose. 

"What  do  you  advise,  Bran?"  But  the  dog 
was  far  ahead,  leaping  and  barking  impatiently. 

"  I  obey,"  said  Raphael ;  and  he  followed  her, 
while  the  wounded  man  called  piteously  and  up- 
braidingly  after  him. 

"  He  will  not  have  long  to  wait.  Those  plun- 
derers will  not  be  as  squeamish  as  I.  ...  Strange, 
now!  From  Armenian  reminiscences  I  should 
have  fancied  myself  as  free  from  such  tender 
weakness  as  any  of  my  Canaanite-slaying  ances- 
tors. .  .  .  And  yet  by  some  mere  spirit  of  con- 
tradiction, I  couldn't  kill  that  fellow,  exactly 
because  he  asked  me  to  do  it.  ...  There  is  more 


The  Bottom  of  the  Abyss        239 

in  that  than  will  fit  into  the  great  inverted  pyra- 
mid of  '  I  am  I.'  .  .  .  Never  mind,  let  me  get  the 
dog's  lessons  by  heart  first.  What  next,  Bran? 
Ah!  Could  one  believe  the  transformation? 
Why,  this  is  the  very  trim  villa  which  I  passed 
yesterday  morning,  with  the  garden-chairs  stand- 
ing among  the  flower-beds,  just  as  the  young  ladies 
had  left  them,  and  the  peacocks  and  silver  pheas- 
ants running  about,  wondering  why  their  pretty 
mistresses  did  not  come  to  feed  them.  And  here 
is  a  trampled  mass  of  wreck  and  corruption  for 
the  girls  to  find,  when  they  venture  back  from 
Rome,  and  complain  how  horrible  war  is  for 
breaking  down  all  their  shrubs,  and  how  cruel 
soldiers  must  be  to  kill  and  cook  all  their  poor  dear 
tame  turtle-doves!  Why  not?  Why  should  they 
lament  over  other  things  —  which  they  can  just 
as  little  mend  —  and  which  perhaps  need  no  more 
mending?  Ah!  there  lies  a  gallant  fellow  under- 
neath that  fruit-tree ! " 

Raphael  walked  up  to  a  ring  of  dead,  in  the  midst 
of  which  lay,  half-sitting  against  the  trunk  of  the 
tree,  a  tall  and  noble  officer,  in  the  first  bloom  of 
manhood.  His  casque  and  armor,  gorgeously 
inlaid  with  gold,  were  hewn  and  battered  by  a 
hundred  blows ;  his  shield  was  cloven  through  and 
through;  his  sword  broken  in  the  stiffened  hand 
which  grasped  it  still.  Cut  off  from  his  troop,  he 
had  made  his  last  stand  beneath  the  tree,  knee- 
deep  in  the  gay  summer  flowers,  and  there  he  lay, 
bestrewn,  as  if  by  some  mockery  —  or  pity  —  of 
mother  nature,  with  faded  roses,  and  golden  fruit, 
shaken  from  off  the  boughs  in  that  last  deadly 
struggle.  Raphael  stood  and  watched  him  with  a 
sad  sneer. 


240  Hypatia 

"  Well !  — you  have  sold  your  fancied  personality 
dear!  How  many  dead  men?  .  .  .  Nine  .  .  . 
Eleven !  Conceited  fellow !  Who  told  you  that 
your  one  life  was  worth  the  eleven  which  you  have 
taken?" 

Bran  went  up  to  the  corpse  —  perhaps  from  its 
sitting  posture  fancying  it  still  living  —  smelt  the 
cold  cheek,  and  recoiled  with  a  mournful  whine. 

"Eh?  That  is  the  right  way  to  look  at  the 
phenomena,  is  it?  Well,  after  all,  I  am  sorry  for 
you  .  .  .  almost  like  you.  .  .  .  All  your  wounds 
in  front,  as  a  man's  should  be.  Poor  fop !  Lais  and 
Thais  will  never  curl  those  dainty  ringlets  for  you 
again !  What  is  that  bas-relief  upon  your  shield? 
Venus  receiving  Psyche  into  the  abode  of  the  gods  1 
.  .  .  Ah !  you  have  found  out  all  about  Psyche's 
wings  by  this  time.  .  .  .  How  do  I  know  that?  And 
yet,  why  am  I,  in  spite  of  my  common  sense  —  if  I 
have  any — talking  to  you  as  you,  and  liking  you,  and 
pitying  you,  if  you  are  nothing  now,  and  probably 
never  were  anything?  Bran  !  What  right  had  you 
to  pity  him  without  giving  your  reasons  in  due 
form,  as  Hypatia  would  have  done?  Forgive  me, 
sir,  however  —  whether  you  exist  or  not,  I  cannot 
leave  that  collar  round  your  neck  for  these  camp- 
wolves  to  convert  into  strong  liquor." 

And  as  he  spoke,  he  bent  down,  and  detached, 
gently  enough,  a  magnificent  necklace. 

"  Not  for  myself,  I  assure  you.  Like  At6's 
golden  apple,  it  shall  go  to  the  fairest.  Here, 
Bran!" 

And  he  wreathed  the  jewels  round  the  neck  of 
the  mastiff,  who,  evidently  exalted  in  her  own  eyes 
by  the  burden,  leaped  and  barked  forward  again, 
taking,  apparently  as  a  matter  of  course,  the  road 


The  Bottom  of  the  Abyss        241 

back  towards  Ostia,  by  which  they  had  come 
thither  from  the  sea.  And  as  he  followed,  careless 
where  he  went,  he  continued  talking  to  himself 
aloud  after  the  manner  of  restless  self-discontented 
men. 

..."  And  then  man  talks  big  about  his  dignity 
and  his  intellect,  and  his  heavenly  parentage,  and 
his  aspirations  after  the  unseen  and  the  beautiful, 
and  the  infinite  —  and  everything  else  unlike  him- 
self. How  can  he  prove  it?  Why,  these  poor 
blackguards  lying  about  are  very  fair  specimens  of 
humanity.  —  And  how  much  have  they  been 
bothered  since  they  were  born  with  aspirations 
after  anything  infinite,  except  infinite  sour  wine? 
To  eat,  to  drink ;  to  destroy  a  certain  number  of 
their  species;  to  reproduce  a  certain  number  of 
the  same,  two-thirds  of  whom  will  die  in  infancy,  a 
dead  waste  of  pain  to  their  mothers,  and  of  expense 

to  their  putative  sires  .  .  .  and  then what  says 

Solomon  ?  What  befalls  them  befalls  beasts.  As 
one  dies,  so  dies  the  other ;  so  that  they  have  all 
one  breath,  and  a  man  has  no  pre-eminence  over  a 
beast ;  for  all  is  vanity.  All  go  to  one  place ;  all 
are  of  the  dust  and  turn  to  dust  again.  Who  knows 
that  the  breath  of  man  goes  upward,  and  that  the 
breath  of  the  beast  goes  downward  to  the  earth? 
Who,  indeed,  my  most  wise  ancestor?  Not  I,  cer- 
tainly. Raphael  Aben-Ezra,  how  art  thou  better  than 
a  beast?  What  pre-eminence  hast  thou,  not  merely 
over  this  dog,  but  over  the  fleas  whom  thou  so  wan- 
tonly cursest?  Man  must  painfully  win  house, 
clothes,  fire.  .  .  .A  pretty  proof  of  his  wisdom,  when 
every  flea  has  the  wit  to  make  my  blanket,  without 
any  labor  of  his  own,  lodge  him  a  great  deal  better 
than  it  lodges  me !  Man  makes  clothes,  and  the 

VI 


242  Hypatia 

fleas  live  in  them.  .  .  .  Which  is  the  wiser  of  the 
two?  .  .  . 

"  Ah,  but  —  man  is  fallen.  .  .  .  Well  —  and  the 
flea  is  not.  So  much  better  he  than  the  man ;  for 
he  is  what  he  was  intended  to  be,  and  so  fulfils  the 
very  definition  of  virtue  .  .  .  which  no  one  can 
say  of  us  of  the  red-ochre  vein.  And  even  if  the 
old  myth  be  true,  and  the  man  only  fell,  because 
he  was  set  to  do  higher  work  than  the  flea ;  what 
does  that  prove  —  but  that  he  could  not  do  it? 

"But  his  arts  and  his  sciences?  .  .  .  Apage ! 
The  very  sound  of  those  grown-children's  rattles 
turns  me  sick.  .  .  .  One  conceited  ass  in  a  gener- 
ation increasing  labor  and  sorrow,  and  dying  after 
all  even  as  the  fool  dies,  and  ten  million  brutes  and 
slaves,  just  where  their  forefathers  were,  and  where 
their  children  will  be  after  them,  to  the  end  of  the 
farce.  .  .  .  The  thing  that  has  been,  it  is  that 
which  shall  be ;  and  there  is  no  new  thing  under 
the  sun.  .  .  . 

"  And  as  for  your  palaces,  and  cities,  and  temples 
.  .  .  look  at  this  Campagna,  and  judge.  Flea-bites 
go  down  after  a  while  —  and  so  do  they.  What  are 
they  but  the  bumps  which  we  human  fleas  make  in 
the  old  earth's  skin?  .  .  .  Make  them?  We  only 
cause  them,  as  fleas  cause  flea-bites.  .  .  .  What  are 
all  the  works  of  man,  but  a  sort  of  cutaneous  dis- 
order in  this  unhealthy  earth-hide,  and  we  a  race  of 
larger  fleas,  running  about  among  its  fur,  which 
we  call  trees?  Why  should  not  the  earth  be  an 
animal?  How  do  I  know  it  is  not?  Because  it  is 
too  big?  Bah!  What  is  big,  and  what  is  little? 
Because  it  has  not  the  shape  of  one?  .  .  .  Look 
into  a  fisherman's  net,  and  see  what  forms  are 
there!  Because  it  does  not  speak?  .  .  .  Perhaps 


The  Bottom  of  the  Abyss        243 

it  has  nothing  to  say,  being  too  busy.  Perhaps  it 
can  talk  no  more  sense  than  we.  ...  In  both 
cases  it  shows  its  wisdom  by  holding  its  tongue. 
Because  it  moves  in  one  necessary  direction?  .  .  . 
How  do  I  know  that  it  does?  How  can  I  tell  that 
it  is  not  flirting  with  all  the  seven  spheres  at  once, 
at  this  moment?  But  if  it  does  —  so  much  the 
wiser  of  it,  if  that  be  the  best  direction  for  it.  Oh, 
what  a  base  satire  on  ourselves  and  our  notions  of 
the  fair  and  fitting,  to  say  that  a  thing  cannot  be 
alive  and  rational,  just  because  it  goes  steadily  on 
upon  its  own  road,  instead  of  skipping  and  scram- 
bling fantastically  up  and  down  without  method  or 
order,  like  us  and  the  fleas,  from  the  cradle  to  the 
grave !  Besides,  if  you  grant,  with  the  rest  of  the 
world,  that  fleas  are  less  noble  than  we,  because 
they  are  our  parasites,  then  you  are  bound  to  grant 
that  we  are  less  noble  than  the  earth,  because  we 
are  its  parasites.  .  .  .  Positively,  it  looks  more 
probable  than  anything  I  have  seen  for  many  a 
day.  .  .  .  And,  by-the-by,  why  should  not  earth- 
quakes, and  floods,  and  pestilences,  be  only  just  so 
many  ways  which  the  cunning  old  brute  earth  has 
of  scratching  herself,  when  the  human  fleas  and  their 
palace  and  city  bites  get  too  troublesome?  " 

At  a  turn  of  the  road  he  was  aroused  from  this 
profitable  meditation  by  a  shriek,  the  shrillness  of 
which  told  him  that  it  was  a  woman's.  He  looked 
up,  and  saw  close  to  him,  among  the  smouldering 
ruins  of  a  farm-house,  two  ruffians  driving  before 
them  a  young  girl,  with  her  hands  tied  behind  her, 
while  the  poor  creature  was  looking  back  piteously 
after  something  among  the  ruins,  and  struggling  in 
vain,  bound  as  she  was,  to  escape  from  her  captors, 
and  return. 


244  Hypatia 

"  Conduct  unjustifiable  in  any  fleas,  —  eh,  Bran? 
How  do  I  know  that,  though?  Why  should  it  not 
be  a  piece  of  excellent  fortune  for  her,  if  she  had 
but  the  equanimity  to  see  it?  Why — what  will 
happen  to  her?  She  will  be  taken  to  Rome,  and 
sold  as  a  slave.  .  .  .  And  in  spite  of  a  few  discom- 
forts in  the  transfer,  and  the  prejudice  which  some 
persons  have  against  standing  an  hour  on  the 
catasta  to  be  handled  from  head  to  foot  in  the 
minimum  of  clothing,  she  will  most  probably  end 
in  being  far  better  housed,  fed,  bedizened,  and 
pampered  to  her  heart's  desire,  than  ninety-nine 
out  of  a  hundred  of  her  sister-fleas  .  .  .  till  she 
begins  to  grow  old  .  .  .  which  she  must  do  in  any 
case.  .  .  .  And  if  she  have  not  contrived  to  wheedle 
her  master  out  of  her  liberty,  and  to  make  up  a 
pretty  little  purse  of  savings,  by  that  time  —  why, 
it  is  her  own  fault.  Eh,  Bran  ?  " 

But  Bran  by  no  means  agreed  with  his  view  of  the 
case ;  for  after  watching  the  two  ruffians,  with  her 
head  stuck  on  one  side,  for  a  minute  or  two,  she 
suddenly  and  silently,  after  the  manner  of  mastiffs, 
sprang  upon  them,  and  dragged  one  to  the  ground. 

"  Oh !  that  is  the  '  fit  and  beautiful,'  in  this  case, 
as  they  say  in  Alexandria,  is  it?  Well  —  I  obey. 
You  are  at  least  a  more  practical  teacher  than  ever 
Hypatia  was.  Heaven  grant  that  there  may  be  no 
more  of  them  in  the  ruins  ! " 

And  rushing  on  the  second  plunderer,  he  laid 
him  dead  with  a  blow  of  his  dagger,  and  then 
turned  to  the  first,  whom  Bran  was  holding  down 
by  the  throat. 

"  Mercy,  mercy !  "  shrieked  the  wretch.  "  Life ! 
only  life ! " 

"There  was  a  fellow  half-a-mile  back  begging  me 


The  Bottom  of  the  Abyss        245 

to  kill  him :  with  which  of  you  two  am  I  to  agree  ? 
—  for  you  can't  both  be  right." 

"  Life !     Only  life !  " 

"  A  carnal  appetite,  which  man  must  learn  to 
conquer,"  said  Raphael,  as  he  raised  the  poniard. 
...  In  a  moment  it  was  over,  and  Bran  and  he 
rose  —  Where  was  the  girl  ?  She  had  rushed  back 
to  the  ruins,  whither  Raphael  followed  her;  while 
Bran  ran  to  the  puppies,  which  he  had  laid  upon 
a  stone,  and  commenced  her  maternal  cares. 

"  What  do  you  want,  my  poor  girl  ?  "  asked  he 
in  Latin.  "  I  will  not  hurt  you." 

"My  father!     My  father!" 

He  untied  her  bruised  and  swollen  wrists ;  and 
without  stopping  to  thank  him,  she  ran  to  a  heap 
of  fallen  stones  and  beams,  and  began  digging 
wildly  with  all  her  little  strength,  breathlessly 
calling  "  Father  !  " 

"  Such  is  the  gratitude  of  flea  to  flea  !  What  is 
there,  now,  in  the  mere  fact  of  being  accustomed 
to  call  another  person  father,  and  not  master,  or 
slave,  which  should  produce  such  passion  as  that? 
.  .  .  Brute  habit !  .  .  .  What  services  can  the  said 
man  render,  or  have  rendered,  which  make  him 

worth Here  is  Bran  !  .  .  .  What  do  you  think 

of  that,  my  female  philosopher?" 

Bran  sat  down  and  watched  too.  The  poor  girl's 
tender  hands  were  bleeding  from  the  stones,  while 
her  golden  tresses  rolled  down  over  her  eyes,  and 
entangled  in  her  impatient  fingers :  but  still  she 
worked  frantically.  Bran  seemed  suddenly  to 
comprehend  the  case,  rushed  to  the  rescue,  and 
began  digging  too,  with  all  her  might. 

Raphael  rose  with  a  shrug,  and  joined  in  the  work. 


246  Hypatia 

"  Hang  these  brute  instincts !  They  make  one 
very  hot.  What  was  that?  " 

A  feeble  moan  rose  from  under  the  stones.  A 
human  limb  was  uncovered.  The  girl  threw  her- 
self on  the  place,  shrieking  her  father's  name. 
Raphael  put  her  gently  back,  and  exerting  his 
whole  strength,  drew  out  of  the  ruins  a  stalwart 
elderly  man,  in  the  dress  of  an  officer  of  high 
rank. 

He  still  breathed.  The  girl  lifted  up  his  head 
and  covered  him  with  wild  kisses.  Raphael  looked 
round  for  water;  found  a  spring  and  a  broken 
sherd,  and  bathed  the  wounded  man's  temples  till 
he  opened  his  eyes,  and  showed  signs  of  returning 
life. 

The  girl  still  sat  by  him,  fondling  her  recovered 
treasure,  and  bathing  the  grizzled  face  in  holy 
tears. 

"It  is  no  business  of  mine,"  said  Raphael. 
"  Come,  Bran ! " 

The  girl  sprang  up,  threw  herself  at  his  feet, 
kissed  his  hands,  called  him  her  savior,  her  deliv- 
erer, sent  by  God. 

"  Not  in  the  least,  my  child.  You  must  thank 
my  teacher  the  dog,  not  me." 

And  she  took  him  at  his  word,  and  threw  her 
soft  arms  round  Bran's  neck ;  and  Bran  understood 
it,  and  wagged  her  tail,  and  licked  the  gentle  face 
lovingly. 

"  Intolerably  absurd,  all  this !  "  said  Raphael. 
"  I  must  be  going,  Bran." 

"You  will  not  leave  us?  You  surely  will  not 
leave  an  old  man  to  die  here  ?  " 

"Why  not?  What  better  thing  could  happen 
to  him?" 


The  Bottom  of  the  Abyss        247 

"  Nothing,"  murmured  the  officer,  who  had  not 
spoken  before. 

"  Ah  God  !  he  is  my  father !  " 

"Well?" 

"  He  is  my  father  !  " 

"Well?" 

"  You  must  save  him !  You  shall,  I  say !  "  And 
she  seized  Raphael's  arm  in  the  imperiousness  of 
her  passion. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders :  but  felt,  he  knew 
not  why,  marvellously  inclined  to  obey  her. 

"  I  may  as  well  do  this  as  anything  else,  having 
nothing  else  to  do.  Whither  now,  sir?" 

"  Whither  you  will.  Our  troops  are  disgraced, 
our  eagles  taken.  We  are  your  prisoners  by  right 
of  war.  We  follow  you." 

"  Oh  my  fortune  !  A  new  responsibility !  Why 
cannot  I  stir,  without  live  animals,  from  fleas 
upward,  attaching  themselves  to  me?  Is  it  not 
enough  to  have  nine  blind  puppies  at  my  back, 
and  an  old  brute  at  my  heels,  who  will  persist  in 
saving  my  life,  that  I  must  be  burdened  over  and 
above  with  a  respectable  elderly  rebel  and  his 
daughter?  Why  am  I  not  allowed  by  fate  to  care 
for  nobody  but  myself?  Sir,  I  give  you  both  your 
freedom.  The  world  is  wide  enough  for  us  all.  I 
really  ask  no  ransom." 

"  You  seem  philosophically  disposed,  my  friend." 

"I?  Heaven  forbid  !  I  have  gone  right  through 
that  slough,  and  come  out  sheer  on  the  other  side. 
For  sweeping  the  last  lingering  taint  of  it  out  of 
me,  I  have  to  thank,  not  sulphur  and  exorcisms, 
but  your  soldiers  and  their  morning's  work.  Philo- 
sophy is  superfluous  in  a  world  where  all  are  fools.*' 

"  Do  you  include  yourself  under  that  title?  " 


248  Hypatia 

"  Most  certainly,  my  best  sir.  Don't  fancy  that 
I  make  any  exceptions.  If  I  can  in  any  way  prove 
my  folly  to  you,  I  will  do  it" 

"  Then  help  me  and  my  daughter  to  Ostia." 

"  A  very  fair  instance.  Well  —  my  dog  happens 
to  be  going  that  way ;  and  after  all,  you  seem  to 
have  a  sufficient  share  of  human  imbecility  to  be  a 
very  fit  companion  for  me.  I  hope,  though,  you 
do  not  set  up  for  a  wise  man  !  " 

"  God  knows  —  no  !  Am  I  not  of  Heraclian's 
army?" 

"  True ;  and  the  young  lady  here  made  herself 
so  great  a  fool  about  you,  that  she  actually  in- 
fected the  very  dog." 

"  So  we  three  fools  will  forth  together." 

"  And  the  greatest  one,  as  usual,  must  help  the 
rest.  But  I  have  nine  puppies  in  my  family  al- 
ready. How  am  I  to  carry  you  and  them?" 

"  I  will  take  them,"  said  the  girl ;  and  Bran, 
after  looking  on  at  the  transfer  with  a  somewhat 
dubious  face,  seemed  to  satisfy  herself  that  all  was 
right,  and  put  her  head  contentedly  under  the 
girl's  hand. 

"  Eh  ?  You  trust  her,  Bran  ?  "  said  Raphael,  in 
an  undertone.  "  I  must  really  emancipate  myself 
from  your  instructions  if  you  require  a  similar 
simplicity  in  me.  Stay !  there  wanders  a  mule 
without  a  rider;  we  may  as  well  press  him  into 
the  service." 

He  caught  the  mule,  lifted  the  wounded  man 
into  the  saddle,  and  the  cavalcade  set  forth,  turn- 
ing out  of  the  highroad  into  a  by-lane,  which  the 
officer,  who  seemed  to  know  the  country  thorough- 
ly, assured  him  would  lead  them  to  Ostia  by  an 
unfrequented  route. 


The  Bottom  of  the  Abyss        249 

"  If  we  arrive  there  before  sundown,  we  are 
saved,"  said  he. 

"  And  in  the  meantime,"  answered  Raphael, 
"between  the  dog  and  this  dagger,  which,  as  I 
take  care  to  inform  all  comers,  is  delicately 
poisoned,  we  may  keep  ourselves  clear  of  marau- 
ders. And  yet,  what  a  meddling  fool  I  am !  "  he 
went  on  to  himself.  "  What  possible  interest  can 
I  have  in  this  uncircumcised  rebel!  The  least 
evil  is,  that  if  we  are  taken,  which  we  most  prob- 
ably shall  be,  I  shall  be  crucified  for  helping  him 
to  escape.  But  even  if  we  get  safe  off —  here  is  a 
fresh  tie  between  me  and  those  very  brother  fleas,  to 
be  rid  of  whom  I  have  chosen  beggary  and  starva- 
tion. Who  knows  where  it  may  end?  Pooh! 
The  man  is  like  other  men.  He  is  certain,  before 
the  day  is  over,  to  prove  ungrateful,  or  attempt 
the  mountebank-heroic,  or  give  me  some  other 
excuse  for  bidding  him  good  evening.  And  in 
the  meantime  there  is  something  quaint  in  the  fact 
of  finding  so  sober  a  respectability,  with  a  young 
daughter  too,  abroad  on  this  fool's  errand,  which 
really  makes  me  curious  to  discover  with  what 
variety  of  flea  I  am  to  class  him." 

But  while  Aben-Ezra  was  talking  to  himself 
about  the  father,  he  could  not  help,  somehow, 
thinking  about  the  daughter.  Again  and  again 
he  found  himself  looking  at  her.  She  was,  un- 
deniably, most  beautiful.  Her  features  were  not 
as  regularly  perfect  as  Hypatia's,  nor  her  stature 
so  commanding ;  but  her  face  shone  with  a  clear 
and  joyful  determination,  and  with  a  tender 
and  modest  thoughtfulness,  such  as  he  had  never 
beheld  before  united  in  one  countenance ;  and  as 
she  stepped  along,  firmly  and  lightly,  by  her 


250  Hypatia 

father's  side,  looping  up  her  scattered  tresses  as 
she  went,  laughing  at  the  struggles  of  her  noisy 
burden,  and  looking  up  with  rapture  at  her  father's 
gradually  brightening  face,  Raphael  could  not 
help  stealing  glance  after  glance,  and  was  surprised 
to  find  them  returned  with  a  bright,  honest,  smil- 
ing gratitude,  which  met  him  full-eyed,  as  free 
from  prudery  as  it  was  from  coquetry.  ..."  A 
lady  she  is,"  said  he  to  himself;  "  but  evidently 
no  city  one.  There  is  nature  —  or  something  else, 
there,  pure  and  unadulterated,  without  any  of  man's 
additions  or  beautifications."  And  as  he  looked, 
he  began  to  feel  it  a  pleasure,  such  as  his  weary 
heart  had  not  known  for  many  a  year,  simply  to 
watch  her.  .  .  . 

"  Positively  there  is  a  foolish  enjoyment  after 
all  in  making  other  fleas  smile.  .  .  .  Ass  that  I 
am!  As  if  I  had  not  drank  all  that  ditch-water 
cup  to  the  dregs  years  ago !  " 

They  went  on  for  some  time  in  silence,  till  the 
officer,  turning  to  him  : 

"And  may  I  ask  you,  my  quaint  preserver, 
whom  I  would  have  thanked  before  but  for  this 
foolish  faintness,  which  is  now  going  off,  what  and 
who  you  are  ?  " 

"  A  flea,  sir  —  a  flea  —  nothing  more." 

"  But  a  patrician  flea,  surely ;  to  judge  by  your 
language  and  manners  ?  " 

"  Not  that  exactly.  True,  I  have  been  rich,  as 
the  saying  is ;  I  may  be  rich  again,  they  tell  me, 
when  I  am  fool  enough  to  choose." 

"  Oh  if  we  were  but  rich  !  "  sighed  the  girl. 

"  You  would  be  very  unhappy,  my  dear  young 
lady.  Believe  a  flea  who  has  tried  the  experiment 
thoroughly." 


The  Bottom  of  the  Abyss        251 

"  Ah !  but  we  could  ransom  my  brother !  and 
now  we  can  find  no  money  till  we  get  back  to 
Africa." 

"  And  none  then,"  said  the  officer,  in  a  low  voice. 
"You  forget,  my  poor  child,  that  I  mortgaged  the 
whole  estate  to  raise  my  legion.  We  must  not 
shrink  from  looking  at  things  as  they  are." 

"  Ah !  and  he  is  prisoner  !  he  will  be  sold  for  a 
slave  —  perhaps  —  ah  !  perhaps  crucified,  for  he 
is  not  a  Roman  !  Oh,  he  will  be  crucified  !  "  and 
she  burst  into  an  agony  of  weeping.  .  .  .  Sud- 
denly she  dashed  away  her  tears  and  looked  up 
clear  and  bright  once  more.  "  No !  forgive  me, 
father !  God  will  protect  His  own !  " 

"  My  dear  young  lady,"  said  Raphael,  "  if  you 
really  dislike  such  a  prospect  for  your  brother,  and 
are  in  want  of  a  few  dirty  coins  wherewith  to  pre- 
vent it,  perhaps  I  may  be  able  to  find  you  them 
in  Ostia." 

She  looked  at  him  incredulously,  as  her  eye 
glanced  over  his  rags,  and  then,  blushing,  begged 
his  pardon  for  her  unspoken  thoughts. 

"  Well,  as  you  choose  to  suppose.  But  my  dog 
has  been  so  civil  to  you  already,  that  perhaps  she 
may  have  no  objection  to  make  you  a  present  of 
that  necklace  of  hers.  I  will  go  to  the  Rabbis, 
and  we  will  make  all  right;  so  don't  cry.  I  hate 
crying;  and  the  puppies  are  quite  chorus  enough 
for  the  present  tragedy." 

"The  Rabbis?  Are  you  a  Jew?"  asked  the 
officer. 

"Yes,  sir,  a  Jew.  And  you,  I  presume,  a 
Christian :  perhaps  you  may  have  scruples  about 
receiving  —  your  sect  has  generally  none  about 
taking  —  from  one  of  our  stubborn  and  unbe- 


252  Hypatia 

lieving  race.  Don't  be  frightened,  though,  for 
your  conscience;  I  assure  you  I  am  no  more  a 
Jew  at  heart  than  I  am  a  Christian." 

"  God  help  you  then !  " 

"  Some  one,  or  something,  has  helped  me  a 
great  deal  too  much,  for  three-and-thirty  years  of 
pampering.  But,  pardon  me,  that  was  a  strange 
speech  for  a  Christian." 

"  You  must  be  a  good  Jew,  sir,  before  you  can 
be  a  good  Christian." 

"  Possibly.  I  intend  to  be  neither  —  nor  a 
good  pagan  either.  My  dear  sir,  let  us  drop  the 
subject.  It  is  beyond  me.  If  I  can  be  as  good 
a  brute  animal  as  my  dog  there  —  it  being  first 
demonstrated  that  it  is  good  to  be  good  —  I  shall 
be  very  well  content" 

The  officer  looked  down  on  him  with  a  stately, 
loving  sorrow.  Raphael  caught  his  eye,  and  felt 
that  he  was  in  the  presence  of  no  common  man. 

"  I  must  take  care  what  I  say  here,  I  suspect, 
or  I  shall  be  entangled  shortly  in  a  regular  So- 
cratic  dialogue.  .  .  .  And  now,  sir,  may  I  return 
your  question,  and  ask  who  and  what  are  you? 
I  really  have  no  intention  of  giving  you  up  to 
any  Caesar,  Antiochus,  Tiglath-Pileser,  or  other 
flea-devouring  flea.  .  .  .  They  will  fatten  well 
enough  without  your  blood.  So  I  only  ask  as  a 
student  of  the  great  nothing-in-general,  which  men 
call  the  universe." 

"  I  was  prefect  of  a  legion  this  morning.  What 
I  am  now,  you  know  as  well  as  I." 

"  Just  what  I  do  not.  I  am  in  deep  wonder  at 
seeing  your  hilarity,  when,  by  all  flea-analogies, 
you  ought  to  be  either  behowling  your  fate  like 
Achilles  on  the  shores  of  Styx,  or  pretending  to 


The  Bottom  of  the  Abyss         253 

grin  and  bear  it,  as  I  was  taught  to  do  when  I 
played  at  Stoicism.  You  are  not  of  that  sect 
certamly,  for  you  confessed  yourself  a  fool  just 
now." 

"  And  it  would  be  long,  would  it  not,  before 
you  made  one  of  them  do  as  much?  Well,  be  it 
so.  A  fool  I  am ;  yet,  if  God  helps  us  as  far  as 
Ostia,  why  should  I  not  be  cheerful?" 

"Why  should  you?" 

"  What  better  thing  can  happen  to  a  fool,  than 
that  God  should  teach  him  that  he  is  one,  when 
he  fancied  himself  the  wisest  of  the  wise  ?  Listen 
to  me,  sir.  Four  months  ago  I  was  blessed  with 
health,  honor,  lands,  friends  —  all  for  which  the 
heart  of  man  could  wish.  And  if,  for  an  insane 
ambition,  I  have  chosen  to  risk  all  those,  against 
the  solemn  warnings  of  the  truest  friend,  and  the 
wisest  saint,  who  treads  this  earth  of  God's  — 
should  I  not  rejoice  to  have  it  proved  to  me,  even 
by  such  a  lesson  as  this,  that  the  friend  who  never 
deceived  me  before  was  right  in  this  case  too; 
and  that  the  God  who  has  checked  and  turned 
me  for  forty  years  of  wild  toil  and  warfare,  when- 
ever I  dared  to  do  what  was  right  in  the  sight  of 
my  own  eyes,  has  not  forgotten  me  yet,  or  given 
up  the  thankless  task  of  my  education?" 

"  And  who,  pray,  is  this  peerless  friend  ?  " 

"Augustine  of  Hippo." 

•"  Humph  !  It  had  been  better  for  the  world  in 
general,  if  the  great  dialectician  had  exerted  his 
powers  of  persuasion  on  Heraclian  himself." 

"  He  did  so,  but  in  vain." 

"  I  don't  doubt  it.  I  know  the  sleek  Count 
well  enough  to  judge  what  effect  a  sermon  would 
have  upon  that  smooth  vulpine  determination  of 


254  Hypatia 

his.  .  .  .  '  An  instrument  in  the  hands  of  God,  my 
dear  brother.  .  .  .  We  must  obey  His  call,  even 
to  the  death,'  etc.,  etc."  And  Raphael  laughed 
tbitterly. 

"You  know  the  Count?" 

"  As  well,  sir,  as  I  care  to  know  any  man." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  your  eyesight,  then,  sir,"  said 
the  Prefect,  severely,  "  if  it  has  been  able  to  dis- 
cern no  more  than  that  in  so  august  a  character." 

"  My  dear  sir,  I  do  not  doubt  his  excellence  — 
nay,  his  inspiration.  How  well  he  divined  the 
perfectly  fit  moment  for  stabbing  his  old  comrade 
Stilicho!  But  really,  as  two  men  of  the  world, 
we  must  be  aware  by  this  time  that  every  man 
has  his  price.".  .  . 

"  Oh,  hush !  hush !  "  whispered  the  girl.  "  You 
cannot  guess  how  you  pain  him.  He  worships 
the  Count.  It  was  not  ambition,  as  he  pretends, 
but  merely  loyalty  to  him,  which  brought  him 
here  against  his  will." 

"  My  dear  madam,  forgive  me.  For  your  sake 
I  am  silent."  .  .  . 

"  For  her  sake !  A  pretty  speech  for  me ! 
What  next!"  said  he  to  himself.  "Ah,  Bran, 
Bran,  this  is  all  your  fault!" 

"  For  my  sake !  Oh,  why  not  for  your  own 
sake?  How  sad  to  hear  one  —  one  like  you,  only 
sneering  and  speaking  evil !  " 

"Why  then?  If  fools  are  fools,  and  one  can 
safely  call  them  so,  why  not  do  it?  " 

"  Ah,  —  if  God  was  merciful  enough  to  send 
down  His  own  Son  to  die  for  them,  should  we 
not  be  merciful  enough  not  to  judge  their  failings 
harshly!" 

"  My  dear  young  lady,  spare  a  worn-out  philos- 


The  Bottom  of  the  Abyss        255 

opher  any  new  anthropologic  theories.  We  really 
must  push  on  a  little  faster,  if  we  intend  to  reach 
Ostia  to-night." 

But,  for  some  reason  or  other,  Raphael  sneered 
no  more  for  a  full  half-hour. 

Long,  however,  ere  they  reached  Ostia,  the 
night  had  fallen ;  and  their  situation  began  to  be 
more  than  questionably  safe.  Now  and  then  a 
wolf,  slinking  across  the  road  towards  his  ghastly 
feast,  glided  like  a  lank  ghost  out  of  the  darkness, 
and  into  it  again,  answering  Bran's  growl  by  a 
gleam  of  his  white  teeth.  Then  the  voices  of 
some  marauding  party  rang  coarse  and  loud 
through  the  still  night,  and  made  them  hesitate 
and  stop  a  while.  And  at  last,  worst  of  all,  the 
measured  tramp  of  an  imperial  column  began  to 
roll  like  distant  thunder  along  the  plain  below. 
They  were  advancing  upon  Ostia !  What  if  they 
-arrived  there  before  the  routed  army  could  rally, 
and  defend  themselves  long  enough  to  re-embark ! 
.  .  .  What  if — a  thousand  ugly  possibilities  be- 
gan to  crowd  up. 

"Suppose  we  found  the  gates  of  Ostia  shut, 
and  the  Imperialists  bivouacked  outside?"  said 
Raphael  half  to  himself. 

"  God  would  protect  His  own,"  answered  the 
girl;  and  Raphael  had  no  heart  to  rob  her  of 
her  hope,  though  he  looked  upon  their  chances 
of  escape  as  growing  smaller  and  smaller  every 
moment.  The  poor  girl  was  weary;  the  mule 
weary  also ;  and  as  they  crawled  along,  at  a  pace 
which  made  it  certain  that  the  fast  passing  column 
would  be  at  Ostia  an  hour  before  them,  to  join 
the  vanguard  of  the  pursuers,  and  aid  them  in 
investing  the  town,  she  had  to  lean  again  and 


256  Hypatia 

again  on  Raphael's  arm.  Her  shoes,  unfitted  for 
so  rough  a  journey,  had  been  long  since  torn  off, 
and  her  tender  feet  were  marking  every  step  with 
blood.  Raphael  knew  it  by  her  faltering  gait; 
and  remarked,  too,  that  neither  sigh  nor  murmur 
passed  her  lips.  But  as  for  helping  her,  he  could 
not ;  and  began  to  curse  the  fancy  which  had  led 
him  to  eschew  even  sandals  as  unworthy  the  self- 
dependence  of  a  Cynic. 

And  so  they  crawled  along,  while  Raphael  and 
the  prefect,  each  guessing  the  terrible  thoughts 
of  the  other,  were  thankful  for  the  darkness  which 
hid  their  despairing  countenances  from  the  young 
girl;  she,  on  the  other  hand,  chatting  cheerfully, 
almost  laughingly,  to  her  silent  father. 

At  last  the  poor  child  stepped  on  some  stone 
more  sharp  than  usual  —  and,  with  a  sudden  writhe 
and  shriek,  sank  to  the  ground.  Raphael  lifted 
her  up,  and  she  tried  to  proceed,  but  sank  down 
again.  .  .  .  What  was  to  be  done  ? 

"  I  expected  this,"  said  the  prefect,  in  a  slow 
stately  voice.  "  Hear  me,  sir !  Jew,  Christian,  or 
philosopher,  God  seems  to  have  bestowed  on  you 
a  heart  which  I  can  trust.  To  your  care  I  com- 
mit this  girl  —  your  property,  like  me,  by  right 
of  war.  Mount  her  upon  this  mule.  Hasten  with 
her  —  where  you  will  —  for  God  will  be  there  also. 
And  may  He  so  deal  with  you,  as  you  deal  with 
her  henceforth.  An  old  and  disgraced  soldier  can 
do  no  more  than  die." 

And  he  made  an  effort  to  dismount ;  but  faint- 
ing from  his  wounds,  sank  upon  the  neck  of  the 
mule.  Raphael  and  his  daughter  caught  him  in 
their  arms. 

"Father!     Father!     Impossible!     Cruel!     Oh 


The  Bottom  of  the  Abyss        -257 

—  do  you  think  that  I  would  have  followed  you 
hither  from  Africa,  against  your  own  entreaties, 
to  desert  you  now?" 

"  My  daughter,  I  command  !  " 

The  girl  remained  firm  and  silent. 

"How  long  have  you  learned  to  disobey  me? 
Lift  the  old  disgraced  man  down,  sir,  and  leave 
him  to  die  in  the  right  place  —  on  the  battle-field 
where  his  general  sent  him." 

The  girl  sank  down  on  the  road  in  an  agony  of 
weeping.  "  I  must  help  myself,  I  see,"  said  her 
father,  dropping  to  the  ground.  "  Authority  van- 
ishes before  old  age  and  humiliation.  Victoria! 
has  your  father  no  sins  to  answer  for  already,  that 
you  will  send  him  before  his  God  with  your  blood 
too  upon  his  head  ?  " 

Still  the  girl  sat  weeping  on  the  ground ;  while 
Raphael,  utterly  at  his  wits'  end,  tried  hard  to 
persuade  himself  that  it  was  no  concern  of 
his. 

"  I  am  at  the  service  of  either  or  of  both,  for 
life  or  death;  only  be  so  good  as  to  settle  it 
quickly.  .  .  .  Hell !  here  it  is  settled  for  us,  with 
a  vengeance ! " 

And  as  he  spoke,  the  tramp  and  jingle  of  horse- 
men rang  along  the  lane,  approaching  rapidly. 

In  an  instant  Victoria  had  sprung  to  her  feet  — 
weakness  and  pain  had  vanished. 

"  There  is  one  chance  —  one  chance  for  him  ! 
Lift  him  over  the  bank,  sir !  Lift  him  over,  while 
I  run  forward  and  meet  them.  My  death  will  de- 
lay them  long  enough  for  you  to  save  him  !  " 

"Death?"  cried  Raphael,  seizing  her  by  the 
arm.  "  If  that  were  all — — " 

"God   will    protect   His   own,"   answered    she, 


258  Hypatia 

calmly,  laying  her  finger  on  her  lips;  and  then 
breaking  from  his  grasp  in  the  strength  of  her 
heroism,  vanished  into  the  night. 

Her  father  tried  to  follow  her,  but  fell  on  his 
face,  groaning.  Raphael  lifted  him,  strove  to  drag 
him  up  the  steep  bank:  but  his  knees  knocked 
together ;  a  faint  sweat  seemed  to  melt  every  limb. 
.  .  .  There  was  a  pause,  which  seemed  ages  long. 
.  .  .  Nearer  and  nearer  came  the  trampling.  .  .  . 
A  sudden  gleam  of  the  moon  revealed  Victoria 
standing  with  outspread  arms,  right  before  the 
horses'  heads.  A  heavenly  glory  seemed  to  bathe 
her  from  head  to  foot ...  or  was  it  tears  sparkling 
in  his  own  eyes?  .  .  .  Then  the  grate  and  jar  of 
the  horse-hoofs  on  the  road,  as  they  pulled  up 
suddenly.  .  .  .  He  turned  his  face  away  and  shut 
his  eyes.  .  .  . 

"  What  are  you  ?  "  thundered  a  voice. 

"  Victoria,  the  daughter  of  Majoricus  the 
Prefect." 

The  voice  was  low,  but  yet  so  clear  and  calm, 
that  every  syllable  rang  through  Aben-Ezra's  ting- 
ling ears.  .  .  . 

A  shout — a  shriek  —  the  confused  murmur 
of  many  voices.  .  .  .  He  looked  up,  in  spite  of 
himself —  a  horseman  had  sprung  to  the  ground, 
and  clasped  Victoria  in  his  arms.  The  human 
heart  of  flesh,  asleep  for  many  a  year,  leaped  into 
mad  life  within  his  breast,  and  drawing  his  dagger, 
he  rushed  into  the  throng: 

"  Villains  !  Hellhounds !  I  will  balk  you  !  She 
shall  die  first!" 

And  the  bright  blade  gleamed  over  Victoria's 
head.  .  .  .  He  was  struck  down  —  blinded  — half- 
stunned  —  but  rose  again  with  the  energy  of  mad- 


The  Bottom  of  the  Abyss        259 

ness.  .  .  .  What  was  this?  Soft  arms  around  him. 
.  .  .  Victoria's ! 

"  Save  him !  Spare  him !  He  saved  us !  Sir ! 
It  is  my  brother !  We  are  safe !  Oh,  spare  the 
dog !  It  saved  my  father !  " 

"  We  have  mistaken  each  other,  indeed,  sir !  " 
said  a  gay  young  tribune,  in  a  voice  trembling 
with  joy.  "  Where  is  my  father?  " 

"  Fifty  yards  behind.  Down,  Bran  !  Qukt ! 
O  Solomon,  mine  ancestor,  why  did  you  not  pre- 
vent me  making  such  an  egregious  fool  of  myself? 
Why,  I  shall  be  forced,  in  self-justification,  to  carry 
through  the  farce  !  " 

There  is  no  use  telling  what  followed  during  the 
next  five  minutes,  at  the  end  of  which  time  Raphael 
found  himself  astride  of  a  goodly  war-horse,  by  the 
side  of  the  young  tribune,  who  carried  Victoria 
before  him.  Two  soldiers  in  the  meantime  were 
supporting  the  prefect  on  his  mule,  and  convinc- 
ing that  stubborn  bearer  of  burdens  that  it  was  not 
quite  so  unable  to  trot  as  it  had  fancied,  by  the 
combined  arguments  of  a  drench  of  wine  and  two 
sword-points,  while  they  heaped  their  general  with 
blessings,  and  kissed  his  hands  and  feet. 

"  Your  father's  soldiers  seem  to  consider  them- 
selves in  debt  to  him :  not,  surely,  for  taking  them 
where  they  could  best  run  away  ?  " 

"  Ah,  poor  fellows  !  "  said  the  tribune ;  "  we 
have  had  as  real  a  panic  among  us  as  I  ever  read 
of  in  Arrian  or  Polybius.  But  he  has  been  a 
father  rather  than  a  general  to  them.  It  is  not 
often  that,  out  of  a  routed  army,  twenty  gallant 
men  will  volunteer  to  ride  back  into  the  enemy's 
ranks,  on  the  chance  of  an  old  man's  breathing 
still." 


26  o  Hypatia 

"Then  you  knew  where  to  find  us?"  said  Vic- 
toria. 

"  Some  of  them  knew.  And  he  himself  showed 
us  this  very  by-road  yesterday,  when  we  took  up 
our  ground,  and  told  us  it  might  be  of  service  on 
occasion  —  and  so  it  has  been." 

"  But  they  told  me  that  you  were  taken  prisoner. 
Oh,  the  torture  I  have  suffered  for  you  1  " 

"  Silly  child !  Did  you  fancy  my  father's  son 
would  be  taken  alive?  I  and  the  first  troop  got 
away  over  the  garden  walls,  and  cut  our  way  out 
into  the  plain,  three  hours  ago." 

"  Did  I  not  tell  you,"  said  Victoria  leaning  to- 
ward Raphael,  "  that  God  would  protect  His 
own?" 

"  You  did,"  answered  he ;  and  fell  into  a  long 
and  silent  meditation. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  ROCKS   OF  THE   SIRENS 

THESE  four  months  had  been  busy  and  event- 
ful enough  to  Hypatia  and  to  Philammon ; 
yet  the  events  and  the  business  were  of  so  gradual 
and  uniform  a  tenor,  that  it  is  as  well  to  pass 
quickly  over  them,  and  show  what  had  happened 
principally  by  its  effects. 

The  robust  and  fiery  desert-lad  was  now  met- 
amorphosed into  the  pale  and  thoughtful  student, 
oppressed  with  the  weight  of  careful  thought  and 
weary  memory.  But  those  remembrances  were 
all  recent  ones.  With  his  entrance  into  Hypatia's 
lecture-room,  and  into  the  fairy  realms  of  Greek 
thought,  a  new  life  had  begun  for  him ;  and  the 
Laura,  and  Pambo,  and  Arsenius,  seemed  dim 
phantoms  from  some  antenatal  existence,  which 
faded  day  by  day  before  the  inrush  of  new  and 
startling  knowledge. 

But  though  the  friends  and  scenes  of  his  child- 
hood had  fallen  back  so  swiftly  Into  the  far  hori- 
zon, he  was  not  lonely.  His  heart  found  a  lovelier, 
if  not  a  healthier  home,  than  it  had  ever  known 
before.  For  during  those  four  peaceful  and  busy 
months  of  study  there  had  sprung  up  between 
Hypatia  and  the  beautiful  boy  one  of  those  pure 
and  yet  passionate  friendships  —  call  them  rather, 
with  Saint  Augustine,  by  the  sacred  name  of  love 
—  which,  fair  and  holy  as  they  are  when  they  link 


262  Hypatia 

youth  to  youth,  or  girl  to  girl,  reach  their  full 
perfection  only  between  man  and  woman.  The 
unselfish  adoration  with  which  a  maiden  may  bow 
down  before  some  strong  and  holy  priest,  or  with 
which  an  enthusiastic  boy  may  cling  to  the  wise 
and  tender  matron,  who,  amid  the  turmoil  of  the 
world,  and  the  pride  of  beauty,  and  the  cares  of 
wifehood,  bends  down  to  him  with  counsel  and 
encouragement  —  earth  knows  no  fairer  bonds 
than  these,  save  wedded  love  itself.  And  that 
second  relation,  motherly  rather  than  sisterly,  had 
bound  Philammon  with  a  golden  chain  to  the 
wondrous  maid  of  Alexandria. 

From  the  commencement  of  his  attendance  in 
her  lecture-room  she  had  suited  her  discourses  to 
what  she  fancied  were  his  especial  spiritual  needs ; 
and  many  a  glance  of  the  eye  towards  him,  on  any 
peculiarly  important  sentence,  set  the  poor  boy's 
heart  beating  at  that  sign  that  the  words  were 
meant  for  him.  But  before  a  month  was  past, 
won  by  the  intense  attention  with  which  he  watched 
for  every  utterance  of  hers,  she  had  persuaded  her 
father  to  give  him  a  place  in  the  library  as  one  of 
his  pupils,  among  the  youths  who  were  employed 
there  daily  in  transcribing,  as  well  as  in  studying, 
the  authors  then  in  fashion. 

She  saw  him  at  first  but  seldom  —  more  seldom 
than  she  would  have  wished :  but  she  dreaded  the 
tongue  of  scandal,  heathen  as  well  as  Christian, 
and  contented  herself  with  inquiring  daily  from 
her  father  about  the  progress  of  the  boy.  And 
when  at  times  she  entered  for  a  moment  the  library, 
where  he  sat  writing,  or  passed  him  on  her  way  to 
the  Museum,  a  look  was  interchanged,  on  her  part 
of  most  gracious  approval,  and  on  his  of  adoring 


The  Rocks  of  the  Sirens          263 

gratitude,  which  was  enough  for  both.  Her  spell 
was  working  surely ;  and  she  was  too  confident  in 
her  own  cause  and  her  own  powers  to  wish  to 
hurry  that  transformation  for  which  she  so  fondly 
hoped. 

"  He  must  begin  at  the  beginning,"  thought  she 
to  herself.  "  Mathematics  and  the  Parmenides  are 
enough  for  him  as  yet.  Without  a  training  in  the 
liberal  sciences  he  cannot  gain  a  faith  worthy  of 
those  gods  to  whom  some  day  I  shall  present  him ; 
and  I  should  find  his  Christian  ignorance  and 
fanaticism  transferred,  whole  and  rude,  to  the 
service  of  those  gods  whose  shrine  is  unapproach- 
able save  to  the  spiritual  man,  who  has  passed 
through  the  successive  vestibules  of  science  and 
philosophy." 

But  soon,  attracted  herself,  as  much  as  wishing 
to  attract  him,  she  employed  him  in  copying  manu- 
scripts for  her  own  use.  She  sent  back  his  themes 
and  declamations,  corrected  with  her  own  hand; 
and  Philammon  laid  them  by  in  his  little  garret 
at  Eudaemon's  house  as  precious  badges  of  honor 
after  exhibiting  them  to  the  reverential  and  envious 
gaze  of  the  little  porter.  So  he  toiled  on,  early 
and  late,  counting  himself  well  paid  for  a  week's 
intense  exertion  by  a  single  smile  or  word  of 
approbation,  and  went  home  to  pour  out  his  soul 
to  his  host  on  the  one  inexhaustible  theme  which 
they  had  in  common  —  Hypatia  and  her  perfec- 
tions. He  would  have  raved  often  enough  on  the 
same  subject  to  his  fellow-pupils,  but  he  shrank  not 
only  from  their  artificial  city  manners,  but  also 
from  their  morality,  for  suspecting  which  he  saw 
but  too  good  cause.  He  longed  to  go  out  into  the 
streets,  to  proclaim  to  the  whole  world  the  treasure 


264  Hypatia 

which  he  had  found,  and  call  on  all  to  come  and 
share  it  with  him.  For  there  was  no  jealousy  in 
that  pure  love  of  his.  Could  he  have  seen  her 
lavishing  on  thousands  far  greater  favors  than  she 
had  conferred  on  him,  he  would  have  rejoiced  in 
the  thought  that  there  were  so  many  more  blest 
beings  upon  earth,  and  have  loved  them  all  and 
every  one  as  brothers,  for  having  deserved  her 
notice.  Her  very  beauty,  when  his  first  flush  of 
wonder  was  past,  he  ceased  to  mention  —  ceased 
even  to  think  of  it.  Of  course  she  must  be  beau- 
tiful. It  was  her  right ;  the  natural  complement  of 
her  other  graces :  but  it  was  to  him  only  what  the 
mother's  smile  is  to  the  infant,  the  sunlight  to  the 
skylark,  the  mountain-breeze  to  the  hunter  —  an 
inspiring  element,  on  which  he  fed  unconsciously. 
Only  when  he  doubted  for  a  moment  some  espe- 
cially startling  or  fanciful  assertion,  did  he  become 
really  aware  of  the  great  loveliness  of  her  who 
made  it ;  and  then  his  heart  silenced  his  judgment 
with  the  thought  —  Could  any  but  true  words 
come  out  of  those  perfect  lips?  —  any  but  royal 
thoughts  take  shape  within  that  queenly  head  ?  .  .  . 
Poor  fool !  Yet  was  it  not  natural  enough? 

Then,  gradually,  as  she  passed  the  boy,  poring 
over  his  book,  in  some  alcove  of  the  Museum 
gardens,  she  would  invite  him  by  a  glance  to  join 
the  knot  of  loungers  and  questioners  who  dangled 
about  her  and  her  father,  and  fancied  themselves 
to  be  reproducing  the  days  of  the  Athenian  sages 
amid  the  groves  of  another  Academus.  Some- 
times, even,  she  had  beckoned  him  to  her  side  as 
she  sat  in  some  retired  arbor,  attended  only  by 
her  father;  and  there  some  passing  observation, 
earnest  and  personal,  however  lofty  and  measured, 


The  Rocks  of  the  Sirens          265 

made  him  aware,  as  it  was  intended  to  do,  that  she 
had  a  deeper  interest  in  him,  a  livelier  sympathy 
for  him,  than  for  the  many ;  that  he  was  in  her 
eyes  not  merely  a  pupil  to  be  instructed,  but  a  soul 
whom  she  desired  to  educate.  And  those  delicious 
gleams  of  sunlight  grew  more  frequent  and  more 
protracted ;  for  by  each  she  satisfied  herself  more 
and  more  that  she  had  not  mistaken  either  his 
powers  or  his  susceptibilities :  and  in  each,  whether 
in  public  or  private,  Philammon  seemed  to  bear 
himself  more  worthily.  For  over  and  above  the 
natural  ease  and  dignity  which  accompanies  phys- 
ical beauty,  and  the  modesty,  self-restraint,  and 
deep  earnestness  which  he  had  acquired  under  the 
discipline  of  the  Laura,  his  Greek  character  was 
developing  itself  in  all  its  quickness,  subtlety,  and 
versatility,  until  he  seemed  to  Hypatia  some  young 
Titan,  by  the  side  of  the  flippant,  hasty,  and  insin- 
cere talkers  who  made  up  her  chosen  circle. 

But  man  can  no  more  live  upon  Platonic  love 
than  on  the  more  prolific  species  of  that  common 
ailment ;  and  for  the  first  month  Philammon  would 
have  gone  hungry  to  his  couch  full  many  a  night, 
to  lie  awake  from  baser  causes  than  philosophic 
meditation,  had  it  not  been  for  his  magnanimous 
host,  who  never  lost  heart  for  a  moment,  either 
about  himself,  or  any  other  human  being.  As  for 
Philammon's  going  out  with  him  to  earn  his  bread, 
he  would  not  hear  of  it.  Did  he  suppose  that  he 
could  meet  any  of  those  monkish  rascals  in  the 
street,  without  being  knocked  down  and  carried  off 
by  main  force?  And  besides  there  was  a  sort  of 
impiety  in  allowing  so  hopeful  a  student  to  neglect 
the  "  Divine  Ineffable  "  in  order  to  supply  the  base 
necessities  of  the  teeth.  So  he  should  pay  no  rent 

M— Vol.  VI 


266  Hypatia 

for  his  lodgings  —  positively  none;  and  as  for 
eatables  —  why,  he  must  himself  work  a  little 
harder  in  order  to  cater  for  both.  Had  not  all  his 
neighbors  their  litters  of  children  to  provide  for, 
while  he,  thanks  to  the  immortals,  had  been  far  too 
wise  to  burden  the  earth  with  animals  who  would 
add  to  the  ugliness  of  their  father  the  Tartarean 
hue  of  their  mother?  And  after  all,  Philammon 
could  pay  him  back  when  he  became  a  great 
sophist,  and  made  money,  as  of  course  he  would 
some  day  or  other ;  and  in  the  meantime,  some- 
thing might  turn  up  —  things  were  always  turning 
up  for  those  whom  the  gods  favored ;  and  besides, 
he  had  fully  ascertained  that  on  the  day  on  which 
he  first  met  Philammon,  the  planets  were  favorable, 
the  Mercury  being  in  something  or  other,  he  forgot 
what,  with  Helios,  which  portended  for  Philammon, 
in  his  opinion,  a  similar  career  with  that  of  the 
glorious  and  devout  Emperor  Julian. 

Philammon  winced  somewhat  at  the  hint ;  which 
seemed  to  have  an  ugly  verisimilitude  in  it:  but 
still,  philosophy  he  must  learn,  and  bread  he  must 
eat;  so  he  submitted. 

But  one  evening,  a  few  days  after  he  had  been 
admitted  as  Theon's  pupil,  he  found,  much  to  his 
astonishment,  lying  on  the  table  in  his  garret,  an 
undeniable  glittering  gold  piece.  He  took  it  down 
to  the  porter  the  next  morning,  and  begged  him 
to  discover  the  owner  of  the  lost  coin,  and  return 
it  duly.  But  what  was  his  surprise,  when  the  little 
man,  amid  endless  capers  and  gesticulations,  in- 
formed him,  with  an  air  of  mystery,  that  it  was 
anything  but  lost ;  that  his  arrears  of  rent  had  been 
paid  for  him ;  and  that,  by  the  bounty  of  the  upper 
powers,  a  fresh  piece  of  coin  would  be  forthcoming 


The  Rocks  of  the  Sirens          267 

every  month !  In  vain  Philammon  demanded  to 
know  who  was  his  benefactor.  Eudaemon  reso- 
lutely kept  the  secret  and  imprecated  a  whole 
Tartarus  of  unnecessary  curses  on  his  wife  if  she 
allowed  her  female  garrulity  —  though  the  poor 
creature  seemed  never  to  open  her  lips  from 
morning  till  night  —  to  betray  so  great  a  mystery. 
Who  was  the  unknown  friend?  There  was  but 
one  person  who  could  have  done  it.  ...  And  yet 
he  dared  not  —  the  thought  was  too  delightful  — 
think  that  it  was  she.  It  must  have  been  her 
father.  The  old  man  had  asked  him  more  than 
once  about  the  state  of  his  purse.  True,  he  had 
always  returned  evasive  answers ;  but  the  kind  old 
man  must  have  divined  the  truth.  Ought  he  not 

—  must  he  not  —  go  and  thank  him  ?    No ;  perhaps 
it  was  more  courteous  to  say  nothing.     If  he  —  she 

—  for  of  course  she  had  permitted,  perhaps  advised, 
the  gift  —  had  intended  him  to  thank  them,  would 
they  have  so  carefully  concealed  their  own  gener- 
osity? ...  Be  it  so,  then.     But  how  would  he  not 
repay  them  for  it !     How  delightful  to  be  in  her 
debt  for  anything  —  for  everything !     Would  that 
he  could  have  the  enjoyment  of  owing  her  existence 
itself! 

So  he  took  the  coin,  bought  unto  himself  a  cloak 
of  the  most  philosophic  fashion,  and  went  his  way, 
such  as  it  was,  rejoicing. 

But  his  faith  in  Christianity?  What  had  become 
of  that? 

What  usually  happens  in  such  cases.  It  was  not 
dead ;  but  nevertheless  it  had  fallen  fast  asleep  for 
the  time  being.  He  did  not  disbelieve  it;  he 
would  have  been  shocked  to  hear  such  a  thing 
asserted  of  him :  but  he  happened  to  be  busy  be- 


268  Hypatia 

lieving  something  else  —  geometry,  conic  sections, 
cosmogonies,  psychologies,  and  what  not  And  so 
it  befell  that  he  had  not  just  then  time  to  believe 
in  Christianity.  He  recollected  at  times  its  exist- 
ence ;  but  even  then  he  neither  affirmed  nor  denied 
it.  When  he  had  solved  the  great  questions  — 
those  which  Hypatia  set  forth  as  the  roots  of  all 
knowledge  —  how  the  world  was  made,  and  what 
was  the  origin  of  evil,  and  what  his  own  personality 
was,  and  —  that  being  settled  —  whether  he  had 
one,  with  a  few  other  preliminary  matters,  then  it 
would  be  time  to  return,  with  his  enlarged  light, 
to  the  study  of  Christianity;  and  if,  of  course, 
Christianity  should  be  found  to  be  at  variance  with 
that  enlarged  light,  as  Hypatia  seemed  to  think. 
.  .  .  Why,  then  —  What  then  ?  .  .  .  He  would 
not  think  about  such  disagreeable  possibilities. 
Sufficient  for  the  day  was  the  evil  thereof.  Possi- 
bilities? It  was  impossible.  .  .  .  Philosophy  could 
not  mislead.  Had  not  Hypatia  defined  it,  as  man's 
search  after  the  unseen?  And  if  he  found  the  un- 
seen by  it,  did  it  not  come  to  just  the  same  thing 
as  if  the  unseen  had  revealed  itself  to  him?  And 
he  must  find  it  —  for  logic  and  mathematics  could 
not  err.  If  every  step  was  correct,  the  conclusion 
must  be  correct  also ;  so  he  must  end,  after  all,  in 
the  right  path  —  that  is,  of  course,  supposing 
Christianity  to  be  the  right  path  —  and  return  to 
fight  the  church's  battles,  with  the  sword  which  he 
had  wrested  from  Goliath  the  Philistine.  .  .  .  But 
he  had  not  won  the  sword  yet ;  and  in  the  mean- 
while, learning  was  weary  work ;  and  sufficient  for 
the  day  was  the  good,  as  well  as  the  evil,  thereof. 

So,  enabled  by  his  gold   coin  each  month  to 
devote  himself  entirely  to  study,  he  became  very 


The  Rocks  of  the  Sirens          269 

much  what  Peter  would  have  coarsely  termed  a 
heathen.  At  first,  indeed,  he  slipped  into  the 
Christian  churches,  from  a  habit  of  conscience. 
But  habits  soon  grow  sleepy ;  the  fear  of  discovery 
and  recapture  made  his  attendance  more  and  more 
of  a  labor.  And  keeping  himself  apart  as  much 
as  possible  from  the  congregation,  as  a  lonely 
and  secret  worshipper,  he  soon  found  himself  as 
separate  from  them  in  heart  as  in  daily  life.  He 
felt  that  they,  and  even  more  than  they,  those 
flowery  and  bombastic  pulpit  rhetoricians,  who 
were  paid  for  their  sermons  by  the  clapping  and 
cheering  of  the  congregation,  were  not  thinking  of, 
longing  after,  the  same  things  as  himself.  Besides, 
he  never  spoke  to  a  Christian ;  for  the  negress  at 
his  lodgings  seemed  to  avoid  him  —  whether  from 
modesty  or  terror,  he  could  not  tell ;  and  cut  off 
thus  from  the  outward  "  communion  of  saints,"  he 
found  himself  fast  parting  away  from  the  inward 
one.  So  he  went  no  more  to  church ;  and  looked 
the  other  way,  he  hardly  knew  why,  whenever  he 
passed  the  Csesareum;  and  Cyril,  and  all  his 
mighty  organization,  became  to  him  another  world, 
with  which  he  had  even  less  to  do  than  with  those 
planets  over  his  head,  whose  mysterious  move- 
ments, and  symbolisms,  and  influences  Hypatia's 
lectures  on  astronomy  were  just  opening  before  his 
bewildered  imagination. 

Hypatia  watched  all  this  with  growing  self- 
satisfaction,  and  fed  herself  with  the  dream  that 
through  Philammon  she  might  see  her  wildest 
hopes  realized.  After  the  manner  of  women,  she 
crowned  him,  in  her  own  imagination,  with  all 
powers  and  excellences  which  she  would  have 
wished  him  to  possess,  as  well  as  with  those  which 


270  Hypatia 

he  actually  manifested,  till  Philammon  would  have 
been  as  much  astonished  as  self-glorified  could  he 
have  seen  the  idealized  caricature  of  himself  which 
the  sweet  enthusiast  had  painted  for  her  private 
enjoyment.  They  were  blissful  months  those  to 
poor  Hypatia.  Orestes,  for  some  reason  or  other, 
had  neglected  to  urge  his  suit,  and  the  Iphigenia- 
sacrifice  had  retired  mercifully  into  the  background. 
Perhaps  she  should  be  able  now  to  accomplish 
all  without  it.  And  yet  —  it  was  so  long  to  wait ! 
Years  might  pass  before  Philammon's  education 
was  matured,  and  with  them  golden  opportunities 
which  might  never  recur  again. 

"  Ah ! "  she  sighed  at  times,  "  that  Julian  had 
lived  a  generation  later!  That  I  could  have 
brought  all  my  hard-earned  treasures  to  the  feet 
of  the  Poet  of  the  Sun,  and  cried,  '  Take  me !  — 
Hero,  warrior,  statesman,  sage,  priest  of  the  God 
of  Light !  Take  thy  slave  !  Command  her  —  send 
her  —  to  martyrdom,  if  thou  wilt ! '  A  pretty  price 
would  that  have  been  wherewith  to  buy  the  honor 
of  being  the  meanest  of  thy  apostles,  the  fellow- 
laborer  of  lamblichus,  Maximus,  Libanius,  and 
the  choir  of  sages  who  upheld  the  throne  of  the 
last  true  Caesar !  " 


CHAPTER  XV 

NEPHELOCOCCUGUIA 

HYPATIA  had  always  avoided  carefully  dis- 
cussing with  Philammon  any  of  those  points 
on  which  she  differed  from  his  former  faith.  She 
was  content  to  let  the  divine  light  of  philosophy 
penetrate  by  its  own  power,  and  educe  its  own 
conclusions.  But  one  da)',  at  the  very  time  at 
which  this  history  re-opens,  she  was  tempted  to 
speak  more  openly  to  her  pupil  than  she  yet  had 
done.  Her  father  had  introduced  him,  a  few  days 
before,  to  a  new  work  of  hers  on  mathematics; 
and  the  delighted  and  adoring  look  with  which  the 
boy  welcomed  her,  as  he  met  her  in  the  Museum 
gardens,  pardonably  tempted  her  curiosity  to  in- 
quire what  miracles  her  own  wisdom  might  have 
already  worked.  She  stopped  in  her  walk,  and 
motioned  her  father  to  begin  a  conversation  with 
Philammon. 

"  Well !  "  asked  the  old  man,  with  an  encour- 
aging smile,  "  and  how  does  our  pupil  like  his 
new " 

"You  mean  my  conic  sections,  father?  It  is 
hardly  fair  to  expect  an  unbiassed  answer  in  my 
presence." 

"  Why  so?"  said  Philammon.  "  Why  should  I 
not  tell  you,  as  well  as  all  the  world,  the  fresh  and 
wonderful  field  of  thought  which  they  have  opened 
to  me,  in  a  few  short  hours?" 


272  Hypatia 

"  What  then  ?  "  asked  Hypatia,  smiling,  as  if  she 
knew  what  the  answer  would  be.  "  In  what  does 
my  commentary  differ  from  the  original  text  of 
Apollonius,  on  which  I  have  so  faithfully  based 
it?" 

"Oh,  as  much  as  a  living  body  differs  from  a 
dead  one.  Instead  of  mere  dry  disquisitions  on 
the  properties  of  lines  and  curves,  I  found  a  mine 
of  poetry  and  theology.  Every  dull  mathematical 
formula  seemed  transfigured,  as  if  by  a  miracle, 
into  the  symbol  of  some  deep  and  noble  principle 
of  the  unseen  world." 

"  And  do  you  think  that  he  of  Perga  did  not  see 
as  much?  or  that  we  can  pretend  to  surpass,  in 
depth  of  insight,  the  sages  of  the  elder  world  ?  Be 
sure  that  they,  like  the  poets,  meant  only  spiritual 
things,  even  when  they  seem  to  talk  only  of  physi- 
cal ones,  and  concealed  heaven  under  an  earthly 
garb,  only  to  hide  it  from  the  eyes  of  the  profane ; 
while  we,  in  these  degenerate  days,  must  interpret 
and  display  each  detail  to  the  dull  ears  of  men." 

"  Do  you  think,  my  young  friend,"  asked  Theon, 
"  that  mathematics  can  be  valuable  to  the  philoso- 
pher otherwise  than  as  vehicles  of  spiritual  truth ! 
Are  we  to  study  numbers  merely  that  we  may  be 
able  to  keep  accounts;  or  as  Pythagoras  did,  in 
order  to  deduce  from  their  laws  the  ideas  by 
which  the  universe,  man,  Divinity  itself,  con- 
sists?" 

"That  seems  to  me  certainly  to  be  the  nobler 
purpose." 

"  Or  conic  sections,  that  we  may  know  better 
how  to  construct  machinery;  or  rather  to  devise 
from  them  symbols  of  the  relations  of  Deity  to  its 
various  emanations?" 


Nephelococcuguia  273 

"You  use  your  dialectic  like  Socrates  himself, 
my  father,"  said  Hypatia. 

"  If  I  do,  it  is  only  for  a  temporary  purpose.  I 
should  be  sorry  to  accustom  Philammon  to  sup- 
pose that  the  essence  of  philosophy  was  to  be 
found  in  those  minute  investigations  of  words  and 
analyses  of  notions,  which  seem  to  constitute 
Plato's  chief  power  in  the  eyes  of  those  who,  like 
the  Christian  sophist  Augustine,  worship  his  letter 
while  they  neglect  his  spirit ;  not  seeing  that  those 
dialogues,  which  they  fancy  the  shrine  itself,  are 
but  vestibules " 

"  Say  rather,  veils,  father." 

"  Veils,  indeed,  which  were  intended  to  baffle 
the  rude  gaze  of  the  carnal-minded ;  but  still  vesti- 
bules, through  which  the  enlightened  soul  might 
be  led  up  to  the  inner  sanctuary,  to  the  Hesperid 
gardens  and  golden  fruit  of  the  Timaeus  and  the 
oracles.  .  .  .  And  for  myself,  were  but  those  two 
books  left,  I  care  not  whether  every  other  writing 
in  the  world  perished  to-morrow."  ] 

"  You  must  except  Homer,  father." 

"Yes,  for  the  herd.  .  .  .  But  of  what  use  would 
he  be  to  them  without  some  spiritual  commen- 
tary?" 

"  He  would  tell  them  as  little,  perhaps,  as  the 
circle  tells  to  the  carpenter  who  draws  one  with 
his  compasses." 

"  And  what  is  the  meaning  of  the  circle  ?  "  asked 
Philammon. 

"  It  may  have  infinite  meanings,  like  every  other 
natural  phenomenon;  and  deeper  meanings  in 
proportion  to  the  exaltation  of  the  soul  which  be- 

1  This  astounding  speech  is  usually  attributed  to  Proclus, 
Hypatia's  "  great "  successor. 


274  Hypatia 

holds  it.  But,  consider,  is  it  not,  as  the  one  per- 
fect figure,  the  very  symbol  of  the  totality  of  the 
spiritual  world ;  which,  like  it,  is  invisible,  except 
at  its  circumference,  where  it  is  limited  by  the 
dead  gross  phenomena  of  sensuous  matter !  and 
even  as  the  circle  takes  its  origin  from  one  center, 
itself  unseen,  —  a  point,  as  Euclid  defines  it,  where- 
of neither  parts  nor  magnitude  can  be  predicated, 
—  does  not  the  world  of  spirits  revolve  round  one 
abysmal  being,  unseen  and  undefinable  —  in  itself, 
as  I  have  so  often  preached,  nothing,  for  it  is  con- 
ceivable only  by  the  negation  of  all  properties, 
even  of  those  of  reason,  virtue,  force;  and  yet, 
like  the  center  of  the  circle,  the  cause  of  all  other 
existences?" 

"  I  see,"  said  Philammon ;  for  the  moment,  cer- 
tainly, the  said  abysmal  Deity  struck  him  as  a 
somewhat  chill  and  barren  notion  .  .  .  but  that 
might  be  caused  only  by  the  dulness  of  his  own 
spiritual  perceptions.  At  all  events,  if  it  was  a 
logical  conclusion,  it  must  be  right. 

"Let  that  be  enough  for  the  present.  Here- 
after you  may  be  —  I  fancy  that  I  know  you  well 
enough  to  prophesy  that  you  will  be  —  able  to 
recognize  in  the  equilateral  triangle  inscribed  with- 
in the  circle,  and  touching  it  only  with  its  angles, 
the  three  supra-sensual  principles  of  existence, 
which  are  contained  in  Deity  as  it  manifests  itself 
in  the  physical  universe,  coinciding  with  its  utmost 
limits,  and  yet,  like  it,  independent  on  that  unseen 
central  One  which  none  dare  name." 

"  Ah !  "  said  poor  Philammon,  blushing  scarlet 
at  the  sense  of  his  own  dulness,  "  I  am,  indeed,  not 
worthy  to  have  such  wisdom  wasted  upon  my  im- 
perfect apprehension.  .  .  .  But,  if  I  may  dare  to 


Nephelococcuguia  275 

ask  .  .  .  does  not  Apollonius  regard  the  circle, 
like  all  other  curves,  as  not  depending  primarily 
on  its  own  center  for  its  existence,  but  as  generated 
by  the  section  of  any  cone  by  a  plane  at  right 
angles  to  its  axis?" 

"  But  must  we  not  draw,  or  at  least  conceive  a 
circle,  in  order  to  produce  that  cone?  And  is  not 
the  axis  of  that  cone  determined  by  the  center  of 
that  circle  ?  " 

Philammon  stood  rebuked. 

"  Do  not  be  ashamed ;  you  have  only,  unwit- 
tingly, laid  open  another,  and  perhaps,  as  deep  a 
symbol.  Can  you  guess  what  it  is  ?  " 

Philammon  puzzled  in  vain. 

"  Does  it  not  show  you  this  ?  That,  as  every 
conceivable  right  section  of  the  cone  discloses  the 
circle,  so  in  all  which  is  fair  and  symmetric  you 
will  discover  Deity,  if  you  but  analyze  it  in  a  right 
and  symmetric  direction  ?  " 

"  Beautiful ! "  said  Philammon,  while  the  old 
man  added : 

"And  does  it  not  show  us,  too,  how  the  one 
perfect  and  original  philosophy  may  be  discovered 
in  all  great  writers,  if  we  have  but  that  scientific 
knowledge,  which  will  enable  us  to  extract  it?" 

"  True,  my  father :  but  just  now,  I  wish  Philam- 
mon, by  such  thoughts  as  I  have  suggested,  to 
rise  to  that  higher  and  more  spiritual  insight  into 
nature,  which  reveals  her  to  us  as  instinct  through- 
out —  all  fair  and  noble  forms  of  her  at  least  — 
with  Deity  itself;  to  make  him  feel  that  it  is  not 
enough  to  say,  with  the  Christians,  that  God  has 
made  the  world,  if  we  make  that  very  assertion  an 
excuse  for  believing  that  His  presence  has  been 
ever  since  withdrawn  from  it." 


276  Hypatia 

"  Christians,  I  think,  would  hardly  say  that,** 
said  Philammon. 

M  Not  in  words.  But,  in  fact,  they  regard  Deity 
as  the  maker  of  a  dead  machine,  which,  once  made, 
will  move  of  itself  thenceforth,  and  repudiate  as 
heretics  every  philosophic  thinker,  whether  Gnostic 
or  Platonist,  who,  unsatisfied  with  so  dead,  barren, 
and  sordid  a  conception  of  the  glorious  all,  wishes 
to  honor  the  Deity  by  acknowledging  His  uni- 
versal presence,  and  to  believe,  honestly,  the 
assertion  of  their  own  Scriptures,  that  He  lives 
and  moves,  and  has  His  being  in  the  universe." 

Philammon  gently  suggested  that  the  passage  in 
question  was  worded  somewhat  differently  in  the 
Scripture. 

"  True.  But  if  the  one  be  true,  its  converse  will 
be  true  also.  If  the  universe  lives  and  moves,  and 
has  its  being  in  Him,  must  He  not  necessarily 
pervade  all  things  ?  " 

"Why?  —  Forgive  my  dulness,  and  explain." 

"  Because,  if  He  did  not  pervade  all  things,  those 
things  which  He  did  not  pervade  would  be  as  it 
were  interstices  in  His  being,  and  in  so  far,  with- 
out Him." 

"  True,  but  still  they  would  be  within  His  cir- 
cumference." 

"  Well  argued.  But  yet  they  would  not  live  in 
Him,  but  in  themselves.  To  live  in  Him  they 
must  be  pervaded  by  His  life.  Do  you  think  it 
possible  —  do  you  think  it  even  reverent  to  affirm 
that  there  can  be  anything  within  the  infinite  glory 
of  Deity  which  has  the  power  of  excluding  from 
the  space  which  it  occupies  that  very  being  from 
which  it  draws  its  worth,  and  which  must  have 
originally  pervaded  that  thing,  in  order  to  bestow  on 


Nephelococcuguia  277 

it  its  organization  and  its  life?  Does  He  retire  after 
creating,  from  the  spaces  which  He  occupied  during 
creation,  reduced  to  the  base  necessity  of  making 
room  for  His  own  universe,  and  endure  the  suffer- 
ing —  for  the  analogy  of  all  material  nature  tells 
us  that  it  is  suffering  —  of  a  foreign  body,  like  a 
thorn  within  the  flesh,  subsisting  within  His  own 
substance  ?  Rather  believe  that  His  wisdom  and 
splendor,  like  a  subtle  and  piercing  fire,  insinuates 
itself  eternally  with  resistless  force  through  every 
organized  atom,  and  that  were  it  withdrawn  but 
for  an  instant  from  the  petal  of  tlie  meanest  flower, 
gross  matter,  and  the  dead  chaos  from  which  it 
was  formed,  would  be  all  which  would  remain  of 
its  loveliness.  .  .  . 

"  Yes  "  —  she  went  on,  after  the  method  of  her 
school,  who  preferred,  like  most  decaying  ones, 
harangues  to  dialectic,  and  synthesis  to  induction. 
..."  Look  at  yon  lotus-flower,  rising  like  Aphro- 
dite from  the  wave  in  which  it  has  slept  through- 
out the  night,  and  saluting,  with  bending  swan-neck, 
that  sun  which  it  will  follow  lovingly  around  the 
sky.  Is  there  no  more  there  than  brute  matter, 
pipes  and  fibres,  color  and  shape,  and  the  mean- 
ingless life-in-death  which  men  call  vegetation? 
Those  old  Egyptian  priests  knew  better,  who  could 
see  in  the  number  and  the  form  of  those  ivory 
petals  and  golden  stamina,  in  that  mysterious  daily 
birth  out  of  the  wave,  in  that  nightly  baptism,  from 
which  it  rises  each  morning  re-born  to  a  new  life, 
the  signs  of  some  divine  idea,  some  mysterious  law, 
common  to  the  flower  itself,  to  the  white-robed 
priestess  who  held  it  in  the  temple-rites,  and  to  the 
goddess  to  whom  they  both  were  consecrated.  .  .  . 
The  flower  of  Isis  !  .  .  Ah !  —  well.  Nature  has 


278  Hypatia 

her  sad  symbols,  as  well  as  her  fair  ones.  And  in 
proportion  as  a  misguided  nation  has  forgotten  the 
worship  of  her  to  whom  they  owed  their  greatness, 
for  novel  and  barbaric  superstitions,  so  has  her 
sacred  flower  grown  rarer  and  more  rare,  till  now 
—  fit  emblem  of  the  worship  over  which  it  used  to 
shed  its  perfume  —  it  is  only  to  be  found  in  gardens 
such  as  these  —  a  curiosity  to  the  vulgar,  and,  to 
such  as  me,  a  lingering  monument  of  wisdom  and 
of  glory  passed  away." 

Philammon,  it  may  be  seen,  was  far  advanced  by 
this  time ;  for  he  bore  the  allusions  to  Isis  without 
the  slightest  shudder.  Nay  —  he  dared  even  to 
offer  consolation  to  the  beautiful  mourner. 

"  The  philosopher,"  he  said, "  will  hardly  lament 
the  loss  of  a  mere  outward  idolatry.  For  if,  as  you 
seem  to  think,  there  were  a  root  of  spiritual  truth 
in  the  symbolism  of  nature,  that  cannot  die.  And 
thus  the  lotus-flower  must  still  retain  its  meaning, 
as  long  as  its  species  exists  on  earth." 

"  Idolatry !  "  answered  she,  with  a  smile.  "  My 
pupil  must  not  repeat  to  me  that  worn-out  Chris- 
tian calumny.  Into  whatsoever  low  superstitions 
the  pious  vulgar  may  have  fallen,  it  is  the  Chris- 
tians now,  and  not  the  heathens,  who  are  idolaters. 
They  who  ascribe  miraculous  power  to  dead  men's 
bones,  who  make  temples  of  charnel-houses,  and 
bow  before  the  images  of  the  meanest  of  mankind, 
have  surely  no  right  to  accuse  of  idolatry  the 
Greek  or  the  Egyptian,  who  embodies  in  a  form 
of  symbolic  beauty  ideas  beyond  the  reach  of 
words ! 

"Idolatry?  Do  I  worship  the  Pharos  when  I 
gaze  at  it,  as  I  do  for  hours,  with  loving  awe,  as 
the  token  to  me  of  the  all-conquering  might  of 


Nephelococcuguia  279 

Hellas?  Do  I  worship  the  roll  on  which  Homer's 
words  are  written,  when  I  welcome  with  delight  the 
celestial  truths  which  it  unfolds  to  me,  and  even 
prize  and  love  the  material  book  for  the  sake  of 
the  message  which  it  brings?  Do  you  fancy  that 
any  but  the  vulgar  worship  the  image  itself,  or 
dream  that  it  can  help  or  hear  them  ?  Does  the 
lover  mistake  his  mistress's  picture  for  the  living, 
speaking  reality?  We  worship  the  idea  of  which 
the  image  is  a  symbol.  Will  you  blame  us  because 
we  use  that  symbol  to  represent  the  idea  to  our 
own  affections  and  emotions  instead  of  leaving  it  a 
barren  notion,  a  vague  imagination  of  our  own 
intellect?" 

"  Then,"  asked  Philammon,  with  a  faltering  voice, 
yet  unable  to  restrain  his  curiosity,  "  then  you  do 
reverence  the  heathen  gods  ?  " 

Why  Hypatia  should  have  felt  his  question  a 
sore  one,  puzzled  Philammon;  but  she  evidently 
did  feel  it  as  such,  for  she  answered  haughtily 
enough : 

"  If  Cyril  had  asked  me  that  question,  I  should 
have  disdained  to  answer.  To  you  I  will  tell,  that 
before  I  can  answer  your  question  you  must  learn 
what  those  whom  you  call  heathen  gods  are.  The 
vulgar,  or  rather  those  who  find  it  their  interest  to 
calumniate  the  vulgar  for  the  sake  of  confounding 
philosophers  with  them,  may  fancy  them  mere  hu- 
man beings,  subject  like  man  to  the  sufferings  of 
pain  and  love,  to  the  limitations  of  personality. 
We,  on  the  other  hand,  have  been  taught  by  the 
primeval  philosophers  of  Greece,  by  the  priests  of 
ancient  Egypt,  and  the  sages  of  Babylon,  to  recog- 
nize in  them  the  universal  powers  of  nature,  those 
children  of  the  all-quickening  spirit,  which  are  but 


280  Hypatia 

various  emanations  of  the  one  primeval  unity  — 
say  rather,  various  phases  of  that  unity,  as  it  has 
been  variously  conceived,  according  to  the  differ- 
ences of  climate  and  race,  by  the  wise  of  different 
nations.  And  thus,  in  our  eyes,  he  who  reverences 
the  many,  worships  by  that  very  act,  with  the  high- 
est and  fullest  adoration,  the  one  of  whose  perfec- 
tion they  are  the  partial  antitypes ;  perfect  each  in 
themselves,  but  each  the  image  of  only  one  of  its 
perfections." 

"  Why,  then,"  said  Philammon,  much  relieved  by 
this  explanation,  "do  you  so  dislike  Christianity? 
may  it  not  be  one  of  the  many  methods ?" 

"  Because,"  she  answered,  interrupting  him  im- 
patiently, "because  it  denies  itself  to  be  one  of 
those  many  methods,  and  stakes  its  existence  on 
the  denial ;  because  it  arrogates  to  itself  the  exclu- 
sive revelation  of  the  Divine,  and  cannot  see,  in  its 
self-conceit,  that  its  own  doctrines  disprove  that 
assumption  by  their  similarity  to  those  of  all  creeds. 
There  is  not  a  dogma  of  the  Galileans  which  may 
not  be  found,  under  some  form  or  other,  in  some 
of  those  very  religions  from  which  it  pretends  to 
disdain  borrowing." 

"  Except,"  said  Theon,  "  its  exaltation  of  all  which 
is  human  and  low-born,  illiterate  and  levelling." 

"Except  that But  look!  here  comes  some 

one  whom  I  cannot  —  do  not  choose  to  meet. 
Turn  this  way  —  quick  !  " 

And  Hypatia,  turning  pale  as  death,  drew  her 
father  with  unphilosophic  haste  down  a  side-walk. 

"  Yes,"  she  went  on  to  herself,  as  soon  as  she  had 
recovered  her  equanimity.  "Were  this  Galilean 
superstition  content  to  take  its  place  humbly 
among  the  other  '  religiones  licitas '  of  the  empire, 


Nephelococcuguia  281 

one  might  tolerate  it  well  enough,  as  an  anthro- 
pomorphic adumbration  of  divine  things  fitted  for 
the  base  and  toiling  herd;  perhaps  peculiarly 
fitted,  because  peculiarly  flattering  to  them.  But 
now " 

"  There  is  Miriam  again,"  said  Philammon, 
"  right  before  us  !  " 

"Miriam?"  asked  Hypatia,  severely.  "You 
know  her,  then?  How  is  that?" 

"  She  lodges  at  Eudaemon's  house,  as  I  do," 
answered  Philammon,  frankly.  "  Not  that  I  evef 
interchanged,  or  wish  to  interchange,  a  word  with 
so  base  a  creature." 

"  Do  not !  I  charge  you  !  "  said  Hypatia,  al- 
most imploringly.  But  there  was  now  no  way  of 
avoiding  her,  and  perforce  Hypatia  and  her  tor- 
mentress met  face  to  face. 

"  One  word  !  one  moment,  beautiful  lady,"  be- 
gan the  old  woman,  with  a  slavish  obeisance. 
"  Nay,  do  not  push  by  so  cruelly.  I  have  —  see 
what  I  have  for  you ! "  and  she  held  out,  with  a 
mysterious  air,  "  The  Rainbow  of  Solomon." 

"  Ah  !  I  knew  you  would  stop  a  moment  —  not 
for  the  ring's  sake,  of  course,  nor  even  for  the  sake 
of  one  who  once  offered  it  to  you.  —  Ah !  and 
where  is  he  now  ?  Dead  of  love,  perhaps !  At 
least,  here  is  his  last  token  to  the  fairest  one,  the 
cruel  one.  .  .  .  Well,  perhaps  she  is  right.  .  .  . 
To  be  an  empress  —  an  empress  !  .  .  .  Far  finer 
than  anything  the  poor  Jew  could  have  offered. 
.  .  .  But  still.  .  .  .  An  empress  need  not  be  above 
hearing  her  subject's  petition.".  .  . 

All  this  was  uttered  rapidly,  and  in  a  wheedling 
undertone,  with  a  continual  snaky  writhing  of  her 
whole  body,  except  her  eye,  which  seemed,  in  the 


282  Hypatia 

intense  fixity  of  its  glare,  to  act  as  a  fulcrum  for 
all  her  limbs;  and  from  that  eye,  as  long  as  it 
kept  its  mysterious  hold,  there  was  no  escaping. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  What  have  I  to  do  with 
this  ring?"  asked  Hypatia,  half  frightened. 

"  He  who  owned  it  once,  offers  it  to  you  now. 
You  recollect  a  little  black  agate  —  a  paltry  thing. 
...  If  you  have  not  thrown  it  away,  as  you  most 
likely  have,  he  wishes  to  redeem  it  with  this  opal 
...  a  gem  surely  more  fit  for  such  a  hand  as 
that." 

"  He  gave  me  the  agate,  and  I  shall  keep  it." 

"  But  this  opal  —  worth,  oh  worth  ten  thousand 
gold  pieces  —  in  exchange  for  that  paltry  broken 
thing  not  worth  one?" 

"  I  am  not  a  dealer,  like  you,  and  have  not  yet 
learnt  to  value  things  by  their  money  price.  If 
that  agate  had  been  worth  money,  I  would  never 
have  accepted  it." 

"  Take  the  ring,  take  it,  my  darling,"  whispered 
Theon,  impatiently;  "  it  will  pay  all  our  debts." 

"  Ah,  that  it  will  —  pay  them  all,"  answered  the 
old  woman,  who  seemed  to  have  mysteriously 
overheard  him. 

"  What !  —  my  father !  Would  you,  too,  counsel 
me  to  be  so  mercenary?  My  good  woman,"  she 
went  on,  turning  to  Miriam,  "  I  cannot  expect  you 
to  understand  the  reason  of  my  refusal.  You  and 
I  have  a  different  standard  of  worth.  But  for  the 
sake  of  the  talisman  engraven  on  that  agate,  if  for 
no  other  reason,  I  cannot  give  it  up." 

"  Ah !  for  the  sake  of  the  talisman  !  That  is 
wise,  now !  That  is  noble  !  Like  a  philosopher  ! 
Oh,  I  will  not  say  a  word  more.  Let  the  beauti- 
ful prophetess  keep  the  agate,  and  take  the  opal 


Nephelococcuguia  283 

too ;  for  see,  there  is  a  charm  on  it  also  !  The 
name  by  which  Solomon  compelled  the  demons 
to  do  his  bidding.  Look  !  What  might  you  not 
do  now,  if  you  knew  how  to  use  that !  To  have 
great  glorious  angels,  with  six  wings  each,  bowing 
at  your  feet  whensoever  you  called  them,  and  say- 
ing, '  Here  am  I,  mistress ;  send  me.'  Only  look 
at  it!" 

Hypatia  took  the  tempting  bait,  and  examined 
it  with  more  curiosity  than  she  would  have  wished 
to  confess ;  while  the  old  woman  went  on : 

"  But  the  wise  lady  knows  how  to  use  the  black 
agate,  of  course?  Aben-Ezra  told  her  that,  did 
he  not?" 

Hypatia  blushed  somewhat;  she  was  ashamed 
to  confess  that  Aben-Ezra  had  not  revealed  the 
secret  to  her,  probably  not  believing  that  there 
was  any,  and  that  the  talisman  had  been  to  her 
only  a  curious  plaything,  of  which  she  liked  to 
believe  one  day  that  it  might  possibly  have  some 
occult  virtue,  and  the  next  day  to  laugh  at  the 
notion  as  unphilosophical  and  barbaric;  so  she 
answered,  rather  severely,  that  her  secrets  were 
her  own  property. 

"  Ah,  then !  she  knows  it  all  —  the  fortunate 
lady !  And  the  talisman  has  told  her  whether 
Heraclian  has  lost  or  won  Rome  by  this  time,  and 
whether  she  is  to  be  the  mother  of  a  new  dynasty 
of  Ptolemies,  or  to  die  a  virgin,  which  the  Four 
Angels  avert !  And  surely  she  has  had  the  great 
demon  come  to  her  already,  when  she  rubbed  the 
flat  side,  has  she  not?" 

"  Go,  foolish  woman !  I  am  not  like  you,  the 
dupe  of  childish  superstitions." 

"  Childish  superstitions !    Ha !  ha  !  ha !  "  said  the 


284  Hypatia 

old  woman,  as  she  turned  to  go,  with  obeisances 
more  lowly,  than  ever.  "  And  she  has  not  seen 
the  Angels  yetl  .  .  .  Ah  well!  perhaps  some 
day,  when  she  wants  to  know  how  to  use  the  talis- 
man, the  beautiful  lady  will  condescend  to  let  the 
poor  old  Jewess  show  her  the  way." 

And  Miriam  disappeared  down  an  alley,  and 
plunged  into  the  thickest  shrubberies,  while  the 
three  dreamers  went  on  their  way. 

Little  thought  Hypatia  that  the  moment  the 
old  woman  had  found  herself  alone,  she  had 
dashed  herself  down  on  the  turf,  rolling  and  biting 
at  the  leaves  like  an  infuriated  wild  beast.  ...  "I 
will  have  it  yet !  I  will  have  it,  if  I  tear  out  her 
heart  with  it !  " 


CHAPTER    XVI 

VENUS  AND   PALLAS 

AS  Hypatia  was  passing  across  to  her  lecture- 
room  that  afternoon,  she  was  stopped  mid- 
way by  a  procession  of  some  twenty  Goths  and 
damsels,  headed  by  Pelagia  herself,  in  all  her  glory 
of  jewels,  shawls,  and  snow-white  mule ;  while  by 
her  side  rode  the  Amal,  his  long  legs,  like  those  of 
Gang-Rolf  the  Norseman,  all  but  touching  the 
ground,  as  he  crushed  down  with  his  weight  a  deli- 
cate little  barb,  the  best  substitute  to  be  found  in  • 
Alexandria  for  the  huge  black  chargers  of  his 
native  land. 

On  they  came,  followed  by  a  wondering  and  ad- 
miring mob,  straight  to  the  door  of  the  Museum, 
and  stopping  began  to  dismount,  while  their  slaves 
took  charge  of  the  mules  and  horses. 

There  was  no  escape  for  Hypatia ;  pride  forbade 
her  to  follow  her  own  maidenly  instinct,  and  to  re- 
coil among  the  crowd  behind  her ;  and  in  another 
moment  the  Amal  had  lifted  Pelagia  from  her  mule, 
and  the  rival  beauties  of  Alexandria  stood,  for  the 
first  time  in  their  lives,  face  to  face. 

"  May  Athene  befriend  you  this  day,  Hypatia !" 
said  Pelagia,  with  her  sweetest  smile.  "  I  have 
brought  my  guards  to  hear  somewhat  of  your  wis- 
dom, this  afternoon.  I  am  anxious  to  know  whether 
you  can  teach  them  anything  more  worth  listening 


286  Hypatia 

to  than  the  foolish  little  songs  which  Aphrodite 
taught  me,  when  she  raised  me  from  the  sea-foam, 
as  she  rose  herself,  and  named  me  Pelagia." 

Hypatia  drew  herself  up  to  her  stateliest  height, 
and  returned  no  answer. 

"  I  think  my  body-guard  will  well  bear  compari- 
son with  yours.  At  least  they  are  the  princes  and 
descendants  of  deities.  So  it  is  but  fitting  that 
they  should  enter  before  your  provincials.  Will 
you  show  them  the  way?" 

No  answer. 

"  Then  I  must  do  it  myself.  Come,  Amal !  "  and 
she  swept  up  the  steps,  followed  by  the  Goths,  who 
put  the  Alexandrians  aside  right  and  left,  as  if  they 
had  been  children. 

"  Ah !  treacherous  wanton  that  you  are  !  "  cried  a 
young  man's  voice  out  of  the  murmuring  crowd. 
"  After  having  plundered  us  of  every  coin  out  of 
which  you  could  dupe  us,  here  you  are  squander- 
ing our  patrimonies  on  barbarians  !  " 

"  Give  us  back  our  presents,  Pelagia,"  cried 
another,  "  and  you  are  welcome  to  your  herd  of 
wild  bulls!" 

"  And  I  will !  "  cried  she,  stopping  suddenly ;  and 
clutching  at  her  chains  and  bracelets,  she  was  on 
the  point  of  dashing  them  among  the  astonished 
crowd : 

"There  !  take  your  gifts !  Pelagia  and  her  girls 
scorn  to  be  debtors  to  boys,  while  they  are  wor- 
shipped by  men  like  these  !  " 

But  the  Amal,  who,  luckily  for  the  students,  had 
not  understood  a  word  of  this  conversation,  seized 
her  arm,  asking  if  she  were  mad. 

"  No,  no  ! "  panted  she,  inarticulate  with  passion. 
"Give  me  gold — every  coin  you  have.  These 


Venus  and  Pallas  287 

wretches  are  twitting  me  with  what  they  gave  me 
before — before — oh  Amal,  you  understand  me?" 
And  she  clung  imploringly  to  his  arm. 

"  Oh !  Heroes  !  each  of  you  throw  his  purse 
among  these  fellows !  they  say  that  we  and  our 
ladies  are  living  on  their  spoils  !  "  And  he  tossed 
his  purse  among  the  crowd. 

In  an  instant  every  Goth  had  followed  his  ex- 
ample :  more  than  one  following  it  up  by  dashing 
a  bracelet  or  necklace  into  the  face  of  some  hapless 
philosophaster. 

"I  have  no  lady,  my  young  friends,"  said  old 
Wulf,  in  good  enough  Greek,  "and  owe  you  noth- 
ing :  so  I  shall  keep  my  money,  as  you  might  have 
kept  yours;  and  as  you  might,  too,  old  Smid,  if 
you  had  been  as  wise  as  I." 

"  Don't  be  stingy,  Prince,  for  the  honor  of  the 
Goths,"  said  Smid,  laughing. 

"  If  I  take  in  gold  I  pay  in  iron,"  answered  Wulf, 
drawing  half  out  of  its  sheath  the  huge  broad  blade, 
at  the  ominous  brown  stains  of  which  the  studentry 
recoiled ;  and  the  whole  party  swept  into  the  empty 
lecture-room,  and  seated  themselves  at  their  ease 
in  the  front  ranks. 

Poor  Hypatia !  At  first  she  determined  not  to 
lecture — then  to  send  for  Orestes — then  to  call  on 
her  students  to  defend  the  sanctity  of  the  Museum ; 
but  pride,  as  well  as  prudence,  advised  her  better ; 
to  retreat  would  be  to  confess  herself  conquered  — 
to  disgrace  philosophy — to  lose  her  hold  on  the 
minds  of  all  waverers.  No  !  she  would  go  on  and 
brave  everything,  insults,  even  violence ;  and  with 
trembling  limbs  and  a  pale  cheek,  she  mounted  the 
tribune  and  began. 

To  her  surprise  and  delight,  however,  her  bar- 


288  Hypatia 

barian  auditors  were  perfectly  well  behaved.  Pe- 
lagia,  in  childish  good  humor  at  her  triumph,  and 
perhaps,  too,  determined  to  show  her  contempt  for 
her  adversary  by  giving  her  every  chance,  enforced 
silence  and  attention,  and  checked  the  tittering  of 
the  girls,  for  a  full  half-hour.  But  at  the  end  of  that 
time  the  heavy  breathing  of  the  slumbering  Amal, 
who  had  been  twice  awoke  by  her,  resounded  un- 
checked through  the  lecture-room,  and  deepened 
into  a  snore ;  for  Pelagia  herself  was  as  fast  asleep  as 
he.  But  now  another  censor  took  upon  himself  the 
office  of  keeping  order.  Old  Wulf,  from  the  moment 
Hypatia  had  begun,  had  never  taken  his  eyes  off 
her  face;  and  again  and  again  the  maiden's  weak 
heart  had  been  cheered,  as  she  saw  the  smile  of 
sturdy  intelligence  and  honest  satisfaction  which 
twinkled  over  that  scarred  and  bristly  visage ;  while 
every  now  and  then  the  graybeard  wagged  approval, 
until  she  found  herself,  long  before  the  end  of  the 
oration,  addressing  herself  straight  to  her  new 
admirer. 

At  last  it  was  over,  and  the  students  behind,  who 
had  sat  meekly  through  it  all,  without  the  slight- 
est wish  to  "upset"  the  intruders,  who  had  so 
thoroughly  upset  them,  rose  hurriedly,  glad  enough 
to  get  safe  out  of  so  dangerous  a  neighborhood. 
But  to  their  astonishment,  as  well  as  to  that  of 
Hypatia,  old  Wulf  rose  also,  and  stumbling  along 
to  the  foot  of  the  tribune,  pulled  out  his  purse,  and 
laid  it  at  Hypatia's  feet. 

"What  is  this?"  asked  she,  half  terrified  at  the 
approach  of  a  figure  more  rugged  and  barbaric 
than  she  had  ever  beheld  before. 

"  My  fee  for  what  I  have  heard  to-day.  You  are 
a  right  noble  maiden,  and  may  Freya  send  you  a 


Venus  and  Pallas  289 

husband  worthy  of  you,  and  make  you  the  mother 
of  kings!" 

And  Wulf  retired  with  his  party. 

Open  homage  to  her  rival,  before  her  very  face ! 
Pelagia  felt  quite  inclined  to  hate  old  Wulf. 

But  at  least  he  was  the  only  traitor.  The  rest  of 
the  Goths  agreed  unanimously  that  Hypatia  was  a 
very  foolish  person,  who  was  wasting  her  youth  and 
beauty  in  talking  to  donkey-riders ;  and  Pelagia  re- 
mounted her  mule,  and  the  Goths  their  horses,  for 
a  triumphal  procession  homeward. 

And  yet  her  heart  was  sad,  even  in  her  triumph. 
Right  and  wrong  were  ideas  as  unknown  to  her  as 
they  were  to  hundreds  of  thousands  in  her  day. 
As  far  as  her  own  consciousness  was  concerned, 
she  was  as  destitute  of  a  soul  as  the  mule  on  which 
she  rode.  Gifted  by  nature  with  boundless  frolic 
and  good-humor,  wit  and  cunning,  her  Greek 
taste  for  the  physically  beautiful  and  graceful  de- 
veloped by  long  training,  until  she  had  become, 
without  a  rival,  the  most  perfect  pantomime, 
dancer,  and  musician  who  catered  for  the  luxuri- 
ous tastes  of  the  Alexandrian  theatres.  She  had 
lived  since  her  childhood  only  for  enjoyment  and 
vanity,  and  wished  for  nothing  more.  But  her  new 
affection,  or  rather  worship,  for  the  huge  manhood 
of  her  Gothic  lover  had  awoke  in  her  a  new  object 
—  to  keep  him  —  to  live  for  him  —  to  follow  him 
to  the  ends  of  the  earth,  even  if  he  tired  of  her,  ill- 
used  her,  despised  her.  And  slowly,  day  by  day, 
Wulf's  sneers  had  awakened  in  her  a  dread  that 
perhaps  the  Amal  might  despise  her.  .  .  .  Why,  she 
could  not  guess:  but  what  sort  of  women  were 
those  Alrunas,  of  whom  Wulf  sung,  of  whom  even 
the  Amal  and  his  men  spoke  with  reverence,  as 

N— Vol.  VI 


290  Hypatia 

something  nobler,  not  only  than  she,  but  even  than 
themselves?  And  what  was  it  which  Wulf  had 
recognized  in  Hypatia  which  had  bowed  the  stern 
and  coarse  old  warrior  before  her  in  that  public 
homage?  ...  It  was  not  difficult  to  say  what.  .  .  . 
But  why  should  that  make  Hypatia  or  any  one  else 
attractive?  .  .  .  And  the  poor  little  child  of  nature 
gazed  in  deep  bewilderment  at  a  crowd  of  new 
questions,  as  a  butterfly  might  at  the  pages  of  the 
book  on  which  it  has  settled,  and  was  sad  and  dis- 
contented —  not  with  herself,  for  was  she  not  Pela- 
gia  the  perfect?  —  but  with  these  strange  fancies 
which  came  into  other  people's  heads.  —  Why 
should  not  every  one  be  as  happy  as  they  could? 
And  who  knew  better  than  she  how  to  be  happy, 
and  to  make  others  happy?  .  .  . 

"  Look  at  that  old  monk  standing  on  the  pave- 
ment, Amalric  !  Why  does  he  stare  so  at  me  ?  Tell 
him  to  go  away." 

The  person  at  whom  she  pointed,  a  delicate- 
featured  old  man,  with  a  venerable  white  beard, 
seemed  to  hear  her ;  for  he  turned  with  a  sudden 
start,  and  then,  to  Pelagia's  astonishment,  put  his 
hands  before  his  face,  and  burst  convulsively  into 
tears. 

"  What  does  he  mean  by  behaving  in  that  way? 
Bring  him  here  to  me  this  moment !  I  will  know !  " 
cried  she,  petulantly  catching  at  the  new  object,  in 
order  to  escape  from  her  own  thoughts. 

In  a  moment  a  Goth  had  led  up  the  weeper, 
who  came  without  demur  to  the  side  of  Pelagia's 
mule. 

"  Why  were  you  so  rude  as  to  burst  out  crying 
in  my  face  ?  "  asked  she,  petulantly. 

The  old  man  looked  up  sadly  and  tenderly,  and 


Venus  and  Pallas  291 

answered   in   a  low   voice,   meant    only   for    her 
ear: 

"  And  how  can  I  help  weeping,  when  I  see  any- 
thing as  beautiful  as  you  are  destined  to  the  flames 
of  hell  for  ever?" 

"  The  flames  of  hell  ?  "  said  Pelagia,  with  a  shud- 
der. "What  for?" 

"  Do  you  not  know?  "  asked  the  old  man,  with  a 
look  of  sad  surprise.  "  Have  you  forgotten  what 
you  are?" 

"I?    I  never  hurt  a  fly !" 

"Why  do  you  look  so  terrified,  my  darling? 
What  have  you  been  saying  to  her,  you  old  vil- 
lain?" and  the  Amal  raised  his  whip. 

"  Oh !  do  not  strike  him.  Come,  come  to-mor- 
row, and  tell  me  what  you  mean." 

"  No,  we  will  have  no  monks  within  our  doors, 
frightening  silly  women.  Off,  sirrah !  and  thank 
the  lady  that  you  have  escaped  with  a  whole  skin." 
And  the  Amal  caught  the  bridle  of  Pelagia's  mule, 
and  pushed  forward,  leaving  the  old  man  gazing 
sadly  after  them. 

But  the  beautiful  sinner  was  evidently  not  the 
object  which  had  brought  the  old  monk  of  the 
desert  into  a  neighborhood  so  strange  and  ungenial 
to  his  habits ;  for,  recovering  himself  in  a  few  mo- 
ments, he  hurried  on  to  the  door  of  the  Museum, 
and  there  planted  himself,  scanning  earnestly  the 
faces  of  the  passers-out,  and  meeting,  of  course, 
with  his  due  share  of  student  ribaldry. 

"  Well,  old  cat,  and  what  mouse  are  you  on  the 
watch  for,  at  the  hole's  mouth  here  ?  " 

"  Just  come  inside,  and  see  whether  the  mice  will 
not  singe  your  whiskers  for  you."  .  .  . 

"  Here  is  my  mouse,  gentlemen,"  answered  the 


292  Hypatia 

old  monk,  with  a  bow  and  a  smile,  as  he  laid  his 
hand  on  Philammon's  arm,  and  presented  to  his 
astonished  eyes  the  delicate  features  and  high 
retreating  forehead  of  Arsenius. 

"  My  father,"  cried  the  boy,  in  the  first  impulse 
of  affectionate  recognition ;  and  then  —  he  had 
expected  some  such  meeting  all  along,  but  now 
that  it  was  come  at  last,  he  turned  pale  as  death. 
The  students  saw  his  emotion. 

"  Hands  off,  old  Heautontimoroumenos !  He 
belongs  to  our  guild  now !  Monks  have  no  more 
business  with  sons  than  with  wives.  Shall  we  hustle 
him  for  you,  Philammon?" 

"  Take  care  how  you  show  off,  gentlemen :  the 
Goths  are  not  yet  out  of  hearing !  "  answered  Phil- 
ammon, who  was  learning  fast  how  to  give  a  smart 
answer ;  and  then,  fearing  the  temper  of  the  younp 
dandies,  and  shrinking  from  the  notion  of  any  in- 
sult to  one  so  reverend  and  so  beloved  as  Arsenius, 
he  drew  the  old  man  gently  away,  and  walked  up 
the  street  with  him  in  silence,  dreading  what  was 
coming. 

"  And  are  these  your  friends? " 

"  Heaven  forbid !  I  have  nothing  in  common 
with  such  animals  but  flesh  and  blood,  and  a  seat 
in  the  lecture-room  !  " 

"Of  the  heathen  woman?" 

Philammon,  after  the  fashion  of  young  men  in 
fear,  rushed  desperately  into  the  subject  himself, 
just  because  he  dreaded  Arsenius's  entering  on  it 
quietly. 

"  Yes,  of  the  heathen  woman.  Of  course  you 
have  seen  Cyril  before  you  came  hither?" 

"  I  have,  and " 

"  And,"  went  on  Philammon,  interrupting  him. 


Venus  and  Pallas  293 

"you  have  been  told  every  lie  which  prurience, 
stupidity,  and  revenge  can  invent.  That  I  have 
trampled  on  the  cross  —  sacrificed  to  all  the 
deities  in  the  pantheon  —  and  probably" — (and 
he  blushed  scarlet)  —  "  that  that  purest  and  holiest 
'of  beings  —  who,  if  she  were  not  what  people  call 
a  pagan,  would  be,  and  deserves  to  be,  worshipped 

as  the  queen  of  saints  —  that  she  —  and  I " 

and  he  stopped. 

"  Have  I  said  that  I  believed  what  I  may  have 
heard?" 

"  No  —  and  therefore,  as  they  are  all  simple  and 
sheer  falsehoods,  there  is  no  more  to  be  said  on 
the  subject.  Not  that  I  shall  not  be  delighted 
to  answer  any  questions  of  yours,  my  dearest 
father " 

"  Have  I  asked  any,  my  child  ?  " 

"  No.  So  we  may  as  well  change  the  subject  for 
the  present," — and  he  began  overwhelming  the 
old  man  with  inquiries  about  himself,  Pambo,  and 
each  and  all  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  Laura :  to 
which  Arsenius,  to  the  boy's  infinite  relief,  an- 
swered cordially  and  minutely,  and  even  vouch- 
safed a  smile  at  some  jest  of  Philammon's  on  the 
contrast  between  the  monks  of  Nitria  and  those 
of  Scetis. 

Arsenius  was  too  wise  not  to  see  well  enough 
what  all  this  flippancy  meant ;  and  too  wise,  also, 
not  to  know  that  Philammon's  version  was  prob- 
ably quite  as  near  the  truth  as  Peter's  and  Cyril's ; 
but  for  reasons  of  his  own,  merely  replied  by  an 
affectionate  look,  and  a  compliment  to  Philammon's 
growth. 

"  And  yet  you  seem  thin  and  pale,  my  boy." 

"  Study,"  said  Philammon,  "  study.    One  cannot 


294  Hypatia 

burn  the  midnight  oil  without  paying  some  penalty 
for  it  ...  However,  I  am  richly  repaid  already; 
I  shall  be  more  so  hereafter." 

"Let  us  hope  so.  But  who  are  those  Goths 
whom  I  passed  in  the  streets  just  now?" 

"  Ah !  my  father,"  said  Philammon,  glad  in  his 
heart  of  any  excuse  to  turn  the  conversation,  and 
yet  half  uneasy  and  suspicious  at  Arsenius's  evident 
determination  to  avoid  the  very  object  of  his  visit. 
"  It  must  have  been  you,  then,  whom  I  saw  stop  and 
speak  to  Pelagia  at  the  farther  end  of  the  street. 
What  words  could  you  possibly  have  had  where- 
with to  honor  such  a  creature  ?  " 

"God  knows.  Some  secret  sympathy  touched 
my  heart.  .  .  .  Alas !  poor  child  !  But  how  came 
you  to  know  her  ?  " 

"  All  Alexandria  knows  the  shameless  abomina- 
tion," interrupted  a  voice  at  their  elbow — none  other 
than  that  of  the  little  porter,  who  had  been  dodging 
and  watching  the  pair  the  whole  way,  and  could  no 
longer  restrain  his  longing  to  meddle.  "  And  well 
it  had  been  for  many  a  rich  young  man  had  old 
Miriam  never  brought  her  over,  in  an  evil  day,  from 
Athens  hither." 

"Miriam?" 

"  Yes,  monk ;  a  name  not  unknown,  I  am  told,  in 
palaces  as  well  as  in  slave-markets." 

"  An  evil-eyed  old  Jewess  ?  " 

"  A  Jewess  she  is,  as  her  name  might  have  in- 
formed you ;  and  as  for  her  eyes,  I  consider  them, 
or  used  to  do  so,  of  course — for  her  injured  nation 
have  been  long  expelled  from  Alexandria  by  your 
fanatic  tribe — as  altogether  divine  and  demoniac, 
let  the  base  imagination  of  monks  call  them  what 
it  likes." 


Venus  and  Pallas  295 

"But  how  did  you  know  this  Pelagia,  my  son? 
She  is  no  fit  company  for  such  as  you." 

Philammon  told,  honestly  enough,  the  story  of  his 
Nile  journey,  and  Pelagia's  invitation  to  him. 

"  You  did  not  surely  accept  it  ?  " 

"  Heaven  forbid  that  Hypatia's  scholar  should  so 
degrade  himself!  " 

Arsenius  shook  his  head  sadly. 

"  You  would  not  have  had  me  go  ?  " 

"  No,  boy.  But  how  long  hast  thou  learned  to 
call  thyself  Hypatia's  scholar,  or  to  call  it  a  degra- 
dation to  visit  the  most  sinful,  if  thou  mightest 
thereby  bring  back  a  lost  lamb  to  the  Good 
Shepherd  ?  Nevertheless,  thou  art  too  young  for 
such  employment — and  she  meant  to  tempt  thee, 
doubtless." 

"  I  do  not  think  it.  She  seemed  struck  by  my 
talking  Athenian  Greek,  and  having  come  from 
Athens." 

"  And  how  long  since  she  came  from  Athens  ?  " 
said  Arsenius,  after  a  pause.  "Who  knows?  " 

"  Just  after  it  was  sacked  by  the  barbarians,"  said 
the  little  porter,  who,  beginning  to  suspect  a  mys- 
tery, was  peeking  and  peering  like  an  excited  parrot. 
"  The  old  dame  brought  her  hither  among  a  cargo 
of  captive  boys  and  girls." 

"The  time  agrees.  .  .  .  Can  this  Miriam  be 
found?" 

"  A  sapient  and  courteous  question  for  a  monk 
to  ask !  Do  you  not  know  that  Cyril  has  expelled 
all  Jews  four  months  ago  ?  " 

"True,  true.  .  .  .  Alas !  "  said  the  old  man  to  him- 
self, "  how  little  the  rulers  of  this  world  guess  their 
own  power !  They  move  a  finger  carelessly,  and  for- 
get that  that  finger  may  crush  to  death  hundreds 


296  Hypatia 

whose  names  they  never  heard  —  and  every  soul  of 
them  as  precious  in  God's  sight  as  Cyril's  own." 

"What  is  the  matter,  my  father?"  asked  Phil- 
ammon.  "You  seem  deeply  moved,  about  this 
woman."  .  .  . 

"And  she  is  Miriam's  slave?" 

"  Her  freedwoman  this  four  years  past,"  said 
the  porter.  "  The  good  lady  —  for  reasons  doubt- 
less excellent  in  themselves,  though  not  altogether 
patent  to  the  philosophic  mind  —  thought  good  to 
turn  her  loose  on  the  Alexandrian  republic,  to 
seek  what  she  might  devour." 

"  God  help  her !  And  you  are  certain  that 
Miriam  is  not  in  Alexandria." 

The  little  porter  turned  very  red,  and  Philammon 
did  so  likewise ;  but  he  remembered  his  promise, 
and  kept  it 

"You  both  know  something  of  her,  I  can  see. 
You  cannot  deceive  an  old  statesman,  sir !  " —  turn- 
ing to  the  little  porter  with  a  look  of  authority  — 
"  poor  monk  though  he  be  now.  If  you  think  fitting 
to  tell  me  what  you  know,  I  promise  you  that  neither 
she  nor  you  shall  be  losers  by  your  confidence  in 
me.  If  not,  I  shall  find  means  to  discover." 

Both  stood  silent 

"  Philammon,  my  son  !  and  art  thou  too  in  league 
against —  no,  not  against  me ;  against  thyself,  poor 
misguided  boy?" 

"  Against  myself  ?  " 

"  Yes  —  I  have  said  it  But  unless  you  will  trust 
me,  I  cannot  trust  you." 

"  I  have  promised." 

"  And  I,  sir  statesman,  or  monk,  or  both,  or  neither, 
have  sworn  by  the  immortal  gods !  "  said  the  porter, 
looking  very  big. 


Venus  and  Pallas  297 

Arsenius  paused. 

"  There  are  those  who  hold  that  an  oath  by  an 
idol,  being  nothing,  is  of  itself  void.  I  do  not 
agree  with  them.  If  thou  thinkest  it  sin  to  break 
thine  oath,  to  thee  it  is  sin.  And  for  thee,  my  poor 
child,  thy  promise  is  sacred,  were  it  made  to  Iscariot 
himself.  But  hear  me.  Can  either  of  you,  by  ask- 
ing this  woman,  be  so  far  absolved  as  to  give  me 
speech  of  her  ?  Tell  her  —  that  is,  if  she  be  in 
Alexandria,  which  God  grant  —  all  that  has  passed 
between  us  here,  and  tell  her,  on  the  solemn  oath 
of  a  Christian,  that  Arsenius,  whose  name  she  knows 
well,  will  neither  injure  nor  betray  her.  Will  you 
do  this?" 

"  Arsenius  ?  "  said  the  little  porter,  with  a  look  of 
mingled  awe  and  pity. 

The  old  man  smiled.  "  Arsenius,  who  was  once 
called  the  Father  of  the  Emperors.  Even  she  will 
trust  that  name." 

"  I  will  go  this  moment,  sir;  I  will  fly !  "  and  off 
rushed  the  little  porter. 

"  The  little  fellow  forgets,"  said  Arsenius,  with  a 
smile,  "  to  how  much  he  has  confessed  already,  and 
how  easy  it  were  now  to  trace  him  to  the  old  hag's 
lair.  .  .  .  Philammon,  my  son  ...  I  have  many 
tears  to  weep  over  thee — but  they  must  wait  a  while. 
I  have  thee  safe  now,"  and  the  old  man  clutched 
his  arm.  "Thou  wilt  not  leave  thy  poor  old 
father  ?  Thou  wilt  not  desert  me  for  the  heathen 
woman  ?  " 

"  I  will  stay  with  you,  I  promise  you,  indeed ! 
if —  if  you  will  not  say  unjust  things  of  her." 

"  I  will  speak  evil  of  no  one,  accuse  no  one,  but 
myself.  I  will  not  say  one  harsh  word  to  thee,  my 
poor  boy.  But  listen  now !  Thou  knowest  that 


298  Hypatia 

thou  earnest  from  Athens.  Knowest  them  that  it 
was  I  who  brought  thee  hither?" 

"You?" 

"  I,  my  son :  but  when  I  brought  thee  to  the 
Laura,  it  seemed  right  that  thou,  as  the  son  of  a 
noble  gentleman,  shouldest  hear  nothing  of  it.  But 
tell  me :  dost  thou  recollect  father  or  mother,  brother 
or  sister;  or  anything  of  thy  home  in  Athens?" 

"No!" 

"  Thanks  be  to  God.  But,  Philammon,  if  thou 
hadst  had  a  sister  —  hush !  And  if —  I  only  say 
if " 

"  A  sister !  "  interrupted  Philammon.   "  Pelagia  ?  " 

"  God  forbid,  my  son  !  But  a  sister  thou  hadst 
once  —  some  three  years  older  than  thee  she 
seemed." 

"What!  did  you  know  her?" 

"  I  saw  her  but  once  —  on  one  sad  day. —  Poor 
children  both !  I  will  not  sadden  you  by  telling 
you  where  and  how." 

"  And  why  did  you  not  bring  her  hither  with  me? 
You  surely  had  not  the  heart  to  part  us  ?  " 

"  Ah,  my  son,  what  right  had  an  old  monk  with 
a  fair  young  girl?  And,  indeed,  even  had  I  had 
the  courage,  it  would  have  been  impossible.  There 
were  others,  richer  than  I,  to  whose  covetousness 
her  youth  and  beauty  seemed  a  precious  prize. 
When  I  saw  her  last,  she  was  in  company  with  an 
ancient  Jewess.  Heaven  grant  that  this  Miriam 
may  prove  to  be  the  one  !  " 

"  And  I  have  a  sister  !  "  gasped  Philammon,  his 
eyes  bursting  with  tears.  "  We  must  find  her ! 
You  will  help  me  ? —  Now  —  this  moment !  There 
is  nothing  else  to  be  thought  of,  spoken  of,  done, 
henceforth,  till  she  is  found  !  " 


Venus  and  Pallas  299 

"  Ah,  my  son,  my  son  !  Better,  better,  perhaps, 
to  leave  her  in  the  hands  of  God  !  What  if  she  were 
dead  ?  To  discover  that,  would  be  to  discover  need- 
less sorrow.  And  what  if —  God  grant  that  it  be 
not  so !  she  had  only  a  name  to  live,  and  were 
dead,  worse  than  dead,  in  sinful  pleasure? " 

"  We  would  save  her,  or  die  trying  to  save  her ! 
Is  it  not  enough  for  me  that  she  is  my  sister?" 

Arsenius  shook  his  head.  He  little  knew  the 
strange  new  light  and  warmth  which  his  words  had 
poured  in  upon  the  young  heart  beside  him.  .  .  . 
"  A  sister !  "  What  mysterious  virtue  was  there  in 
that  simple  word,  which  made  Philammon's  brain 
reel  and  his  heart  throb  madly?  A  sister!  not 
merely  a  friend,  an  equal,  a  helpmate,  given  by  God 
himself,  for  loving  whom  none,  not  even  a  monk, 
could  blame  him. —  Not  merely  something  delicate, 
weak,  beautiful  —  for  of  course  she  must  be  beau- 
tiful —  whom  he  might  cherish,  guide,  support,  de- 
liver, die  for,  and  find  death  delicious.  Yes  —  all 
that,  and  more  than  that,  lay  in  the  sacred  word. 
For  those  divided  and  partial  notions  had  flitted 
across  his  mind  too  rapidly  to  stir  such  passion  as 
moved  him  now ;  even  the  hint  of  her  sin  and  dan- 
ger had  been  heard  heedlessly,  if  heard  at  all.  It 
was  the  word  itself  which  bore  its  own  message,  its 
own  spell  to  the  heart  of  the  fatherless  and  mother- 
less foundling,  as  he  faced  for  the  first  time  the 
deep,  everlasting,  divine  reality  of  kindred.  .  .  . 
A  sister !  of  his  own  flesh  and  blood — born  of  the 
same  father,  the  same  mother  —  his,  his,  for  ever ! 
How  hollow  and  fleeting  seemed  all  "  spiritual  son- 
ships,"  "  spiritual  daughterhoods,"  inventions  of  the 
changing  fancy,  the  wayward  will  of  man  !  Arsenius 
—  Pambo — ay,  Hypatia  herself — what  were  they 


300  Hypatia 

to  him  now?  Here  was  a  real  relationship.  ...  A 
sister !  What  else  was  worth  caring  for  upon  earth? 

"And  she  was  at  Athens  when  Pelagia  was  " — he 
cried  at  last  — "perhaps  knew  her — let  us  go  to 
Pelagia  herself! " 

"  Heaven  forbid  !  "  said  Arsenius.  "  We  must 
wait  at  least  till  Miriam's  answer  comes." 

"  I  can  show  you  her  house  at  least  in  the  mean- 
while ;  and  you  can  go  in  yourself  when  you  will. 
I  do  not  ask  to  enter.  Come  !  I  feel  certain  that 
my  finding  her  is  in  some  way  bound  up  with  Pela- 
gia. Had  I  not  met  her  on  the  Nile,  had  you  not 
met  her  in  the  street,  I  might  never  have  heard 
that  I  had  a  sister.  And  if  she  went  with  Miriam, 
Pelagia  must  know  her  —  she  may  be  in  that  very 
house  at  this  moment !  " 

Arsenius  had  his  reasons  for  suspecting  that  Phil- 
ammon  was  but  too  right.  But  he  contented  him- 
self with  yielding  to  the  boy's  excitement,  and  set 
off  with  him  in  the  direction  of  the  dancer's  house. 

They  were  within  a  few  yards  of  the  gate,  when 
hurried  footsteps  behind  them,  and  voices  calling 
them  by  name,  made  them  turn ;  and  behold,  evi- 
dently to  the  disgust  of  Arsenius  as  much  as  Phil- 
ammon  himself,  Peter  the  Reader  and  a  large  party 
of  monks ! 

Philammon's  first  impulse  was  to  escape ;  Arsen- 
ius himself  caught  him  by  the  arm,  and  seemed 
inclined  to  hurry  on. 

"  No !  "  thought  the  youth, "  am  I  not  a  free  man, 
and  a  philosopher?"  and  facing  round,  he  awaited 
the  enemy. 

"  Ah,  young  apostate  !  So  you  have  found  him, 
reverend  and  ill-used  sir.  Praised  be  Heaven  for 
this  rapid  success  i  " 


Venus  and  Pallas  301 

"  My  good  friend,"  asked  Arseniiis,  in  a  trem- 
bling voice,"  what  brings  you  here? " 

"  Heaven  forbid  that  I  should  have  allowed  your 
sanctity  and  age  to  go  forth  without  some  guard 
against  the  insults  and  violence  of  this  wretched 
youth  and  his  profligate  companions.  We  have 
been  following  you  afar  off  all  the  morning,  with 
hearts  full  of  filial  solicitude." 

"  Many  thanks ;  but  indeed  your  kindness  has 
been  superfluous.  My  son  here,  from  whom  I  have 
met  with  nothing  but  affection,  and  whom,  indeed, 
I  believe  far  more  innocent  than  report  declared 
him,  is  about  to  return  peaceably  with  me.  Are 
you  not,  Philammon?" 

"  Alas !  my  father,"  said  Philammon,  with  an 
effort, "  how  can  I  find  courage  to  say  it?  —  but  I 
cannot  return  with  you." 

"Cannot  return?" 

"I  vowed  that  I  would  never  again  cross  that 
threshold  till " 

"  And  Cyril  does.  He  bade  me,  indeed  he  bade 
me,  assure  you  that  he  would  receive  you  back  as 
a  son,  and  forgive  and  forget  all  the  past." 

"Forgive  and  forget?  That  is  my  part  —  not 
his.  Will  he  right  me  against  that  tyrant  and 
his  crew?  Will  he  proclaim  me  openly  to  be  an 
innocent  and  persecuted  man,  unjustly  beaten  and 
driven  forth  for  obeying  his  own  commands  ?  Till 
he  does  that,  I  shall  not  forget  that  I  am  a  free 
man." 

"  A  free  man ! "  said  Peter,  with  an  unpleasant 
smile ;  "  that  remains  to  be  proved,  my  gay  youth ; 
and  will  need  more  evidence  than  that  smart  philo- 
sophic cloak  and  those  well-curled  locks  which  you 
have  adopted  since  I  saw  you  last." 


302  Hypatia 

"  Remains  to  be  proved  ?  " 

Arsenius  made  an  imploring  gesture  to  Peter  to 
be  silent. 

"  Nay,  sir.  As  I  foretold  to  you,  this  one  way 
alone  remains ;  the  blame  of  it,  if  there  be  blame, 
must  rest  on  the  unhappy  youth  whose  perversity 
renders  it  necessary." 

"  For  God's  sake,  spare  me !  "  cried  the  old  man, 
dragging  Peter  aside,  while  Philammon  stood  as- 
tonished, divided  between  indignation  and  vague 
dread. 

"  Did  I  not  tell  you  again  and  again  that  I  never 
could  bring  myself  to  call  a  Christian  man  my 
slave  ?  And  him,  above  all,  my  spiritual  son  ?  " 

"  And,  most  reverend  sir,  whose  zeal  is  only  sur- 
passed by  your  tenderness  and  mercy,  did  not  the 
holy  patriarch  assure  you  that  your  scruples  were 
groundless?  Do  you  think  that  either  he  or  I  can 
have  less  horror  than  you  have  of  slavery  in  itself? 
Heaven  forbid !  But  when  an  immortal  soul  is  at 
stake  —  when  a  lost  lamb  is  to  be  brought  back  to 
the  fold — surely  you  may  employ  the  authority 
which  the  law  gives  you  for  the  salvation  of  that 
precious  charge  committed  to  you?  What  could 
be  more  conclusive  than  his  holiness's  argument 
this  morning  ?  '  Christians  are  bound  to  obey  the 
laws  of  this  world  for  conscience'  sake,  even  though, 
in  the  abstract,  they  may  disapprove  of  them,  and 
deny  their  authority.  Then,  by  parity  of  reason- 
ing, it  must  be  lawful  for  them  to  take  the  ad- 
vantage which  those  same  laws  offer  them,  when 
by  so  doing  the  glory  of  God  may  be  advanced.'  " 

Arsenius  still  hung  back,  with  eyes  brimming 
with  tears ;  but  Philammon  himself  put  an  end  to 
the  parley. 


Venus  and  Pallas  303 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  all  this  ?  Are  you,  too, 
in  a  conspiracy  against  me  ?  Speak,  Arsenius  !  " 

"  This  is  the  meaning  of  it,  blinded  sinner !  "  cried 
Peter.  "  That  you  are  by  law  the  slave  of  Arsen- 
ius, lawfully  bought  with  his  money  in  the  city  of 
Ravenna;  and  that  he  has  the  power,  and,  as  I 
trust,  for  the  sake  of  your  salvation,  the  will  also,  to 
compel  you  to  accompany  him." 

Philammon  recoiled  across  the  pavement,  with 
eyes  flashing  defiance.  A  slave !  The  light  of 
heaven  grew  black  to  him.  .  .  .  Oh,  that  Hypatia 
might  never  know  his  shame  !  Yet  it  was  impos- 
sible. Too  dreadful  to  be  true.  .  .  . 

"  You  lie !  "  almost  shrieked  he.  "  I  am  the  son 
of  a  noble  citizen  of  Athens.  Arsenius  told  me  so, 
but  this  moment,  with  his  own  lips !  " 

"Ah,  but  he  bought  you  —  bought  you  in  the 
public  market ;  and  he  can  prove  it ! " 

"  Hear  me  —  hear  me,  my  son  !  "  cried  the  old 
man,  "springing  toward  him.  Philammon,  in  his 
fury,  mistook  the  gesture  and  thrust  him  fiercely 
back. 

"  Your  son  ?  —  your  slave  !  Do  not  insult  the 
name  of  son  by  applying  it  to  me.  Yes,  sir ;  your 
slave  in  body,  but  not  in  soul !  Ay,  seize  me  — 
drag  home  the  fugitive  —  scourge  him  —  brand 
him  —  chain  him  in  the  mill,  if  you  can ;  but  even 
for  that  the  free  heart  has  a  remedy.  If  you  will 
not  let  me  live  as  a  philosopher,  you  shall  see  me 
die  like  one  !  " 

"  Seize  the  fellow,  my  brethren ! "  cried  Peter, 
while  Arsenius,  utterly  unable  to  restrain  either 
party,  hid  his  face  and  wept. 

"  Wretches  !  "  cried  the  boy ;  "  you  shall  never 
take  me  alive,  while  I  have  teeth  or  nails  left.  Treat 


304  Hypatia 

me  as  a  brute  beast,  and  I  will  defend  myself  as 
such !  " 

"  Out  of  the  way  there,  rascals  !  Place  for  the 
prefect!  What  are  you  squabbling  about  here, 
you  unmannerly  monks?"  shouted  peremptory 
voices  from  behind.  The  crowd  parted,  and  dis- 
closed the  apparitors  of  Orestes,  who  followed  in 
his  robes  of  office. 

A  sudden  hope  flashed  before  Philammon,  and 
in  an  instant  he  had  burst  through  the  mob,  and 
was  clinging  to  the  prefect's  chariot. 

"  I  am  a  free-born  Athenian,  whom  these  monks 
wish  to  kidnap  back  into  slavery !  I  claim  your 
protection ! " 

"  And  you  shall  have  it,  right  or  wrong,  my  hand- 
some fellow.  By  Heaven,  you  are  much  too  good- 
looking  to  be  made  a  monk  of  !  What  do  you 
mean,  you  villains,  by  attempting  to  kidnap  free 
men  ?  Is  it  not  enough  for  you  to  lock  up  every 
mad  girl  whom  you  can  dupe,  but  you  must " 

"  His  master  is  here  present,  your  excellency, 
who  will  swear  to  the  purchase." 

"  Or  to  anything  else  for  the  glory  of  God.  Out 
of  the  way !  And  take  care,  you  tall  scoundrel,  that 
I  do  not  get  a  handle  against  you.  You  have  been 
one  of  my  marked  men  for  many  a  mouth.  Off!  " 

"  His  master  demands  the  rights  of  the  law  as 
a  Roman  citizen,"  said  Peter,  pushing  forward 
Arsenius. 

"  If  he  be  a  Roman  citizen,  let  him  come  and 
make  his  claim  at  the  tribune  to-morrow,  in  legal 
form.  But  I  would  have  you  remember,  ancient  sir, 
that  I  shall  require  you  to  prove  your  citizenship 
before  we  proceed  to  the  question  of  purchase." 

"  The  law  does  not  demand  that,"  quoth  Peter. 


Venus  and  Pallas  305 

"  Knock  that  fellow  down,  apparitor !  "  Whereat 
Peter  vanished,  and  an  ominous  growl  rose  from  the 
mob  of  monks. 

"  What  am  I  to  do,  most  noble  sir  ?  "  said  Phil- 
ammon. 

"  Whatever  you  like,  till  the  third  hour  to-morrow 
— if  you  are  fool  enough  to  appear  at  the  tribune. 
If  you  will  take  my  advice,  you  will  knock  down 
these  fellows  right  and  left,  and  run  for  your  life." 
And  Orestes  drove  on. 

Philammon  saw  that  it  was  his  only  chance,  and 
did  so;  and  in  another  minute  he  found  himself 
rushing  headlong  into  the  archway  of  Pelagia's 
house,  with  a  dozen  monks  at  his  heels. 

As  luck  would  have  it,  the  outer  gates,  at  which 
the  Goths  had  just  entered,  were  still  open ;  but  the 
inner  ones  which  led  into  the  court  beyond  were 
fast.  He  tried  them,  but  in  vain.  There  was  an 
open  door  in  the  wall  on  his  right:  he  rushed 
through  it,  into  a  long  range  of  stables,  and  into 
the  arms  of  Wulf  and  Smid,  who  were  unsaddling 
and  feeding,  like  true  warriors,  their  own  horses. 

"  Souls  of  my  fathers  !  "  shouted  Smid,  "  here 's 
our  young  monk  come  back!  What  brings  you 
here  head  over  heels  in  this  way,  young  curly- 
pate?" 

"  Save  me  from  those  wretches !  "  pointing  to  the 
monks,  who  were  peeping  into  the  doorway. 

Wulf  seemed  to  understand  it  all  in  a  moment ; 
for,  snatching  up  a  heavy  whip,  he  rushed  at  the  foe, 
and  with  a  few  tremendous  strokes  cleared  the  door- 
way, and  shut-to  the  door. 

Philammon  was  going  to  explain  and  thank,  but 
Smid  stopped  his  mouth. 

"  Never  mind,  young  one,  you  are  our  guest  now. 


306  Hypatia 

Come  in,  and  you  shall  be  as  welcome  as  ever.  See 
what  comes  of  running  away  from  us  at  first." 

"  You  do  not  seem  to  have  benefited  much  by 
leaving  me  for  the  monks,"  said  old  Wulf.  "  Come 
in  by  the  inner  door.  Smid !  go  and  turn  those 
monks  out  of  the  gateway." 

But  the  mob,  after  battering  the  door  for  a  few 
minutes,  had  yielded  to  the  agonized  entreaties  of 
Peter,  who  assured  them  that  if  those  incarnate 
fiends  once  broke  out  upon  them,  they  would  not 
leave  a  Christian  alive  in  Alexandria.  So  it  was 
agreed  to  leave  a  few  to  watch  for  Philammon's  com- 
ing out ;  and  the  rest,  balked  of  their  prey,  turned 
the  tide  of  their  wrath  against  the  prefect,  and  re- 
joined the  mass  of  their  party,  who  were  still  hang- 
ing round  his  chariot,  ready  for  mischief. 

In  vain  the  hapless  shepherd  of  the  people  at- 
tempted to  drive  on.  The  apparitors  were  fright- 
ened and  hung  back ;  and  without  their  help  it  was 
impossible  to  force  the  horses  through  the  mass  of 
tossing  arms  and  beards  in  front.  The  matter  was 
evidently  growing  serious. 

"  The  bitterest  ruffians  in  all  Nitria,  your  excel- 
lency," whispered  one  of  the  guards,  with  a  pale 
face ;  "  and  two  hundred  of  them  at  the  least.  The 
very  same  set,  I  will  be  sworn,  who  nearly  mur- 
dered Dioscuros." 

"  If  you  will  not  allow  me  to  proceed,  my  holy 
brethren,"  said  Orestes,  trying  to  look  collected, 
"  perhaps  it  will  not  be  contrary  to  the  canons  of 
the  church  if  I  turn  back.  Leave  the  horses'  heads 
alone.  Why,  in  God's  name,  what  do  you  want?  " 

"Do  you  fancy  we  have  forgotten  Hieracas?" 
cried  a  voice  from  the  rear;  and  at  that  name, 
yell  upon  yell  arose,  till  the  mob,  gaining  courage 


Venus  and  Pallas  307 

from  its  own  noise,  burst  out  into  open  threats. 
"  Revenge  for  the  blessed  martyr,  Hieracas ! " 
"  Revenge  for  the  wrongs  of  the  church  !  "  "  Down 
with  the  friend  of  heathens,  Jews,  and  barba- 
rians !  "  "  Down  with  the  favorite  of  Hypatia !  " 
"  Tyrant !  "  "  Butcher !  " 

And  the  last  epithet  so  smote  the  delicate  fancy 
of  the  crowd,  that  a  general  cry  arose  of  "  Kill  the 
butcher !  "  and  one  furious  monk  attempted  to  clam- 
ber into  the  chariot.  An  apparitor  tore  him  down, 
and  was  dragged  to  the  ground  in  his  turn.  The 
monks  closed  in.  The  guards,  finding  the  enemy 
number  ten  to  their  one,  threw  down  their  weapons 
in  a  panic,  and  vanished;  and  in  another  minute 
the  hopes  of  Hypatia  and  the  gods  would  have 
been  lost  for  ever,  and  Alexandria  robbed  of  the 
blessing  of  being  ruled  by  the  most  finished  gentle- 
man south  of  the  Mediterranean,  had  it  not  been 
for  unexpected  succor;  of  which  it  will  be  time 
enough,  considering  who  and  what  is  in  danger, 
to  speak  in  a  future  chapter. 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


001  002  403     2 


